It fascinated him how different from Christina she was. Of how different Annie was from any woman in his experience.
But he couldn’t let her touch him. Not while he was so vulnerable today. He had to find a way to push her away, make her leave him alone.
“All right. You go ahead. I’ll be right behind you,” he said in his most demanding voice.
She screwed up her wide, full mouth in a frown for a second. But then she swung around and took a couple of steps toward the house before turning back to make sure he was following.
He started out, but soon realized that he’d made a huge mistake. He should’ve taken the lead. That way he wouldn’t be stuck walking behind her and admiring the way she looked as she swung her hips in those sexy, too-short white shorts.
Even in the dull light of the prestorm sky, Annie was radiant and energetic enough to make him forget his vows of celibacy since his wife’s death. She made him think instead of how he would dearly love to run his fingers through that mass of fiery red curls. Or to place his lips against the adorable rusty freckles that spattered across her nose like paint spills.
Her energy snapped about her as if she were static electricity during a thunderstorm. He found himself nearly drooling at the thought of capturing her to him and tasting all that vividness.
Instead, he fisted his hands and stuck them in his pockets. Concentrating on what hurricane preparations might be left to attend to and on how ferocious the storm might actually become, he vowed to keep his growing lust a secret.
He’d always thought that sex was a sacred trust. One best shared only once in a lifetime and mostly for procreation. Fidelity and honor meant more than mere bodily urges. And he would not betray Christina’s memory by jumping the first woman that had turned him on since her death.
Annie stirred the stockpot on the range as she heard the first tinkling sounds of rain against the shuttered windows. Before he left for the mainland, the chef had given her instructions for keeping herself and Nick fed during the storm and its aftermath.
The freezer was stocked with things that could be defrosted and heated up on the outdoor barbeque grill after the storm. She was making a big pot of her mother’s Irish stew that could be reheated on a small propane gas stove during the storm if the island’s electricity went out.
Annie could hear Nick in the other parts of house as he rummaged around, locating kerosene lamps, flashlights and candles. She didn’t worry about his physical ability to move through the house anymore. Not like she had when she’d first come and he’d been so unsteady on his injured knee.
It had taken all her knowledge of anatomic kinesiology and experience with physical conditioning in people with limited mobility to help him reestablish the strength in his legs. And then, of course, there had been the whole problem of motivation. Every time she’d pushed him a little further than the time before, he’d blazed with anger and backed away from her, almost as if her touch had somehow burned him.
Lately, the tension in the air between them was thick enough to make her more nervous than she liked to admit.
“Would you care to join me in a cup of tea?”
The sound of his voice startled her and she dropped the spoon into the stew pot. “Darn. You surprised me. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
He reached for a pair of tongs from the round carousel that held kitchen utensils. “Sorry.” Dipping the tongs in the stew, he retrieved the spoon, wiped it off with a towel and handed it back to her with a polite bow. “Here you are, mademoiselle. No harm done.”
“Pretty slick, Nick, and how very European of you. I didn’t realize you were so familiar with a kitchen. I just imagined you’d always had a chef and would barely be able to find the kitchen, let alone know where things were kept in one.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” he said with a frown. “I’ve been sneaking into the kitchen for most of my life. Ever since I found out that’s where the sweets are kept.”
Annie giggled, put the lid back on the pot and turned the heat down under it. “If you’re serious about making tea, I’d love some.”
“Certainly,” he said with a formal air. He began opening jars and putting fresh water into the tea kettle.
She stood aside to watch him work and waited, she supposed, for him to drop something or in some other way need her help. Which she knew would not make him happy.
Sure enough, her hovering angered him. “Sit down. This will take a few minutes.” The darn man intimidated her, but she couldn’t let him know that.
She did as he asked and sat at the narrow kitchen table, but the nervous energy spilled off her like rapids over a waterfall. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m just not used to sitting while someone else works. I really appreciate you letting me stay here with you through the storm. I never would’ve been able to stand being in the U.S. not knowing if you were okay.”
Her words gushed out. “I mean, I’ve never been through a hurricane before. Is it going to be terrifying? I think we’re all set, don’t you? Should I be doing something?”
“Calm down.” He turned away from the counter. “You’re becoming hysterical. Everything will be fine, trust me,” he said with a rare smile.
There it was again. Lately whenever he smiled, an odd feeling that a big change was coming flew through her mind and heart. She’d been having these mystical sensory imaginings for days—no maybe it was weeks now.
It was something her mother would no doubt call Irish intuition. Fate appeared to be poised for stepping in and stirring its own pot of mischief.
But Annie was sure whatever it was couldn’t be connected to the impending storm. The hurricane had been planned for and watched over for days. No, this would be some major change for her and Nick personally, she felt it in her bones.
Hw was much healthier now than when she’d first arrived on the island and better able to take care of himself. Maybe he was considering letting her go. That wouldn’t be too much of a shock, even though it would make her sad to have to leave him. But she’d known all along that this was not a permanent assignment.
“Do you always talk so fast when you’re nervous?”
“Yes. I guess I do.” She watched as he moved smoothly around the stainless steel kitchen, putting together tea and water and then setting china cups on the table.
The man was going to use real china for their casual tea. Wouldn’t Ma think that was something?
He set the silver teapot down to steep on a little cart next to the table, and then he pulled out a chair and sat down beside her. “There’s no need to be worried about the storm, Annie. I’ve been through several hurricanes. Proper preparation is the key. Most storms are not direct hits and end up just being long, boring ordeals.”
She wasn’t nervous about the storm. If she was worried about anything, it was the fantasies she’d been having lately about the man who was her boss and the possibility that soon she might never be able to see him again.
Sitting next to him now was making her thighs tingle. And wasn’t that an odd thing?
“Would you like biscuits with your tea?” he asked.
She shook her head and tried a half smile. He was close enough that she was catching his scent. The smell of salt spray, a whiff of some expensive aftershave and the musk of a light sheen of sweat lingered in the air and made her feel warm and itchy. There was something wild in that combination that she didn’t quite recognize, but today it was definitely doing strange things to her body.
“You know why I didn’t want you to stay here on the island during the storm?” he asked as he poured the tea.
“You weren’t worried about my safety.”
“No. I’d planned to ask you and the rest of the