had left town too and Lissa had never heard, nor asked, what had happened to her or her baby.
She was still watching when he turned back. ‘And the eggs.? I like them hard.’
‘That makes it easy, so do I.’
She had the distinct feeling neither of them were talking about eggs.
As soon as she heard the front door close she headed for a better view of the river. And Blake. She found it in the master bedroom. With the living-room lighting spilling onto the rain-swept patio, she watched him stride swiftly down the path. Past the pool. Along the jetty. A tall, impressive masculine figure, an image no less powerful than when he’d been standing outside her door as a possible intruder. And no less unsettling.
When he’d disappeared onto the deck, she turned and gazed at the room. The light from the hallway slanted onto the rumpled king-sized bed, the upper sheet twisted and hanging off one side. The imprint of his head on the pillow had her stomach fluttering with the kind of nervous excitement he’d always instilled in her whenever she’d thought of him.
She crushed a hand against her middle and ordered herself to settle down. He’d been sleeping in here. Or trying to. What had made him up and leave such comfort and seek out the houseboat in the middle of the night? Bad dreams? Or physical pain—she’d seen it behind his eyes, hard and brittle as if he’d been fighting it a while.
Or was he missing a special woman that he’d left behind in some foreign country?
She looked about for some hint. His open bag lay on the floor against a wall, clothes neatly stacked inside. A pile of sail-boat brochures were stacked on the dresser along with his passport and some loose change. She was so tempted to look at his passport and see where he’d been, but she couldn’t bring herself to invade his privacy.
Instead, hardly aware of what she was doing, she moved to the bed and picked up his pillow, closed her eyes and breathed in. It smelled of sunshine with a subtle whiff of masculine scent that she’d come into close proximity with earlier. It had been a long time, but she remembered that smell. Blake. A moan started low in her stomach and rose up her throat—
‘Everything okay here?’
Oh, God. Her heart jumped into her mouth. Oh, no. Her knees almost buckled from under her and her eyes snapped open though she’d rather they’d stayed shut. Then she could have imagined herself invisible instead of seeing Blake standing in the doorway, one arm on the doorjamb, head cocked to one side. His dark figure blocked the light from the hall. She had no idea what his expression was, or what he must be thinking, but it couldn’t be good.
‘Yep. Everything’s fine.’ Forcing a smile, she stepped away from the bed. ‘I … ah … wanted to check the boat was still afloat.’ She laughed; too bright, too high. ‘Silly, I know …’ But you already have that opinion about me. ‘I’m … just grabbing an extra pillow on the way if that’s okay. Was there something you wanted?’
And how dumb was she, how reckless, standing next to his bed in the semi-darkness in her mini nightgown and asking that question? Not that he noticed … or did he? He wore a bemused expression and she pressed her lips together before she got herself into even more trouble.
‘My phone.’ He turned on the light, regarded her a moment longer then switched his attention to the empty night stand and frowned. ‘You haven’t seen it, have you? I’m sure I left it here somewhere.’
She shook her head. ‘Perhaps you knocked it onto the floor.’
‘Or perhaps you did,’ he pointed out. Faintly accusing.
Anxious to move this beyond-embarrassing situation right along and leave, she dropped the pillow on the bed and sank gratefully to her knees to hide her flaming cheeks.
‘Is it there?’
‘Um …’
‘Do you need a hand?’
Oh, yes, please. The impact of those somewhat ambiguous words spoken in that low sexy drawl invoked an image she was better off not thinking about. ‘Ah …’ Her fingers closed over smooth plastic. ‘Found it.’
Blake heard her muffled reply as he watched her silk-draped bottom wriggle backwards. She had it all right: the perfect backside. He tried, he really did, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It had been a long time since he’d seen anything so. spectacular.
The last time he’d seen her she’d been a skinny thirteen and a blusher. Still was apparently. Her curtain of auburn hair obscured her face but he knew without a doubt that her cheeks matched it. She could be telling him the truth about the pillow and the boat but he seriously doubted it.
She was attracted to him.
Jared’s little sister. Jared’s very attractive, very sexy little sister.
She pushed up, held his phone at one end as if it were red hot.
‘Thank you.’
‘Sure.’
If she felt that zing when his fingers came into contact with hers, she didn’t show it. She smoothed her hair behind her ears, straightened and met his gaze almost defiantly. Pink-cheeked and pretty.
Not words that normally came to his mind, but they suited Lissa. His chest cramped in an odd way. Sitting too long in the one position, he assured himself.
A scowl tightened his facial muscles and he studied his phone, pressed a couple of buttons. He didn’t do pink and pretty and its association with hearts and flowers and ever afters. It wasn’t for guys like him, always on the move. What was more, he didn’t need it. Way too problematic.
Hot and fast and uncomplicated—that was what he needed. And by crikey, he thought, his lower body suddenly hard as rock, he needed it soon.
‘Got someone special waiting for you to ring, huh?’
His head jerked up. ‘You always did get straight to the point, didn’t you? I need to make a few calls.’ A plumber and an electrician for starters. But it could wait till morning. ‘Your tools are worse than useless. I’ve secured the tarp over the main leak for now. Are you even aware of the state of the roofing?’
She looked away. ‘I was going to get around to it.’
Yeah? When? ‘I’ll organise something for tomorrow.’ He turned and walked to the door. A thought occurred to him and he turned back. and his mind went blank.
She was holding his pillow by one corner and staring at him. He imagined himself walking over there and taking it from her hands, leaning close and breathing in the scent of her neck. Feeling the silky heat of her flesh against his knuckles as he untied her sash and slid the dressing gown from her shoulders before laying her down and letting her help him forget why he’d come home.
But pink and pretty didn’t deserve to be used in that way. She didn’t deserve to be used in that way.
She arched a brow, waiting, and he realised that he’d been about to ask a question before he’d been blindsided. ‘Are you working tomorrow?’
She hesitated, looking uncertain. ‘No. Not tomorrow.’
She also sounded vague. ‘Are you sure?’ he prompted. ‘You’re not thinking of playing hooky, are you? Because—’
‘Because you’re here to take care of everything and not to worry my pretty little head over it?’
Right. He wouldn’t have said it in quite that way but, yep, that pretty much summed it up.
She made a dismissive snort and didn’t look the least bit impressed. She had that sulky pout going on again.
He didn’t see the problem. Protection came naturally to him. Other women would be grateful for his assistance. And only too willing to show that gratitude. In any number of ways.
Not Melissa Sanderson