Page 38 of Our Little Secret
He walked to the small galley, found coffee in a carafe, and poured two mugs.
She wanted to protest but didn’t. “Sit,” he said, nodding to the built-in couch near a foldout table. She did. After setting the cups on the table, he said, “You can take off your jacket.”
“I’m not staying.”
“Still—it’s wet.”
“Fine.” She slid out of the rain jacket and he hooked a finger under the collar and hung it on a peg near the stairs, next to a scuba-diving suit. He yanked off his sweatshirt and put it on a nearby hook and she saw his bare torso, flat abdomen, and muscular shoulders, the way his jeans hung low. She forced her nose into her cup but couldn’t force herself to look away as he snagged a black T-shirt from the row of hooks and slid it over his head.
She felt a flush climb up her neck and did finally turn her attention to a porthole but caught his reflection as he forced his arms through a flannel shirt that he didn’t bother buttoning.
Once more she tried not to stare and instead wrapped her fingers around the warm cup and pretended interest in anything but him. On a little hook she spied a necklace, beads, and what looked like a hook made out of bone. “What’s this?” she asked, and he glanced at her, saw her fingers touching the hook, and for just a heartbeat seemed to tense. “Something I picked up in Polynesia,” he said dismissively.
“You sailed there?”
“A long time ago.”
Before she could ask more about it, he swung the desk chair around, the one piece of furniture not currently bolted down, and straddled it. “Tell me about yourself,” he suggested, picking up his mug.
“Not much to tell.”
“No? So indulge me.” He cast a look to the windows. “Until the storm passes.”
“I can’t stay long.”
“It’ll be over in half an hour.”
“And you know this—how?”
“Years at sea and,” he yanked a phone from his pocket, “a handy weather app.”
“Isn’t that cheating?”
His gray eyes twinkled. “And what would I know about cheating? For that matter, what would you?”
She felt heat climb up the back of her neck. “Probably too much,” she admitted, thinking of Neal and his attraction to his coworker, their rumored affair. A woman new to the firm and younger than his wife. And then, of course, there was what had happened years before.
He was intrigued. “Tell me.”
“I don’t think so.” She set her cup on the table. “Look, I really need to go. I just came by to drop off the bracelet. Thank you for it. Very thoughtful of you, but I just don’t want to give anyone the wrong idea.”
“Meaning me?”
“Meaning anyone,” she said and stood. She swept her purse from the floor and reached for her jacket. She started for the stairs. When she was on the first step he caught her hand and spun her around. She found herself staring at him at eye level. Her heart fluttered and she gasped as he leaned forward and brushed his lips against her cheek. “That’s for taking the time to find me.”
She gulped. “No problem.” And then she raced up the remaining steps and out into the windswept, wet day. The clouds were parting and the rain had slowed to a steady drizzle. She felt the urge to pause and look over her shoulder, but she knew it would be a mistake. She kept walking until she reached her SUV. Once in the interior she stared through the rain-spattered window to see him on the deck of his sailboat, legs braced and parted, the tail of his flannel shirt flapping in the breeze. He found her gaze and grinned, that knowing, almost cocky grin she found far too sexy.
Stop it, she told herself, not liking the turn of her thoughts.
She switched on the ignition and rammed the Explorer into gear, nearly peeling out as she raced away from the marina. Her fingers were tight over the steering wheel, her pulse pounding in her brain.
What are you doing, Brooke? Whatever it is, stop it now!
She drove home, her mind spinning.
She shouldn’t be thinking about him. Shouldnot!
But she did.
