Читать книгу Island Heat - Sarah Mayberry - Страница 8

TORY TURNED HER FACE into the cool sea breeze and stared up at the navy-blue sky. Why was it that the stars seemed to sparkle so much more brightly out at sea? She told herself there was probably some incredibly rational scientific explanation, like the fact that there was less ambient light from city streetlights to distract the eye, for example. Not quite as romantic and magical an explanation as a woman might hope for but probably more accurate than putting the spectacular sky show down to there being tropical magic in the air.

Of its own accord, her hand found the silver teardrop pendant hanging from her neck. The precious metal was warm from her skin, and she peered down at it wryly. Perhaps this whole true-love-legend thing was starting to rub off on her after all.

Dinner had been a trial. There was no other word for it. Being forced to sit next to Ben all night, rubbing shoulders with him occasionally, inhaling his crisp aftershave…She’d felt on edge and on her guard through the whole meal. Both before and after his childish attempt to make her squirm.

She dropped the pendant as she forced herself to acknowledge that she’d gotten her own back, which probably made her just as childish as him. She frowned at the inky sea. She really should try to rise above it, tell herself that nothing he did or said mattered.

Turning away from the railing, she reluctantly decided that it was time to turn in for the evening. Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, she started back along the deck, looking for the entrance that would lead her to the elevator bank. Her steps slowed, then halted altogether when she spotted the newspaper folded neatly on one of the sun lounges lining the deck. It had been discarded inside out so that the photograph that had so intrigued her last night was staring straight up at her. She wasn’t a superstitious person, but she couldn’t just ignore it and walk past. She hesitated, then reached for the paper, lifting it to stare into the little boy’s eyes again. Just as she had last night, she felt a resonating sense of recognition. She knew this boy. She recognized the soul staring out at her from those clear blue eyes.

Her fingers tightened around the paper. Last night she’d told herself she was crazy to even contemplate the idea that this might be her brother’s lost son, but tonight she acknowledged that she’d never stopped thinking about this photograph since the moment she’d seen it. Even when she’d been sparring and sniping with Ben today, a part of her mind had been dwelling on this little boy’s face.

Just like that, she made her decision. It might be crazy, it might be a sign that she had more issues around her brother’s death than she’d yet acknowledged, but she was going to pursue this. She was going to do everything in her power to find this little boy and verify for herself that he was not her brother’s son.

Folding the paper more carefully, she turned to head back to her cabin only to almost walk straight into Ben. They both froze, then took a step backward as though being within touching distance might give them cooties or something. He’d taken off his tie and loosened his collar, she noted, and his hair was wind-rumpled. She didn’t need to see the thin line of his lips to know that he was as unthrilled to see her as she was to see him. The air practically vibrated with their mutual antipathy.

“Enjoying the ocean breeze?” he asked after the silence had stretched a little too long.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Are we making small talk with one another now?”