Room...but Not Bored!
Room...but Not Bored!
Dawn Atkins
Roommates are off-limits… aren't they?Ariel Adams hates everything about the beach. So when circumstances force her to move into a small beach house, she's convinced life can't get worse. It can. The house isn't empty. Inside, sports gear, dirty towels, a giant dog…and Jake Renner– the sexy handyman fixing up the cottage– fill the rooms to overflowing. So much for privacy! How is she supposed to share the cramped space with too-tempting Jake…and only a sheet dividing their bedrooms?Used to leading the life of a carefree bachelor, Jake knows Ariel thinks he's just another beach bum. To complicate matters, the more time he spends with Ariel, the more Jake finds himself unable to resist her. After a few wild encounters with her, Jake is hooked…and ready to prove to Ariel that they make better roommates when they're sharing the same bed!
Jake wasn’t just a beach bum who lived only to play…
“Taste this, Ariel,” Jake said, holding out a spoon dripping with chocolate, unaware of the swell of hope inside her. He was just going to feed her again, as he’d been doing since the day she arrived, a perfectly innocent gesture.
But this time it would mean more. Ariel gripped his wrist, pulled the spoon to her lips and slowly licked it, holding his gaze, her heart pounding, her pulse racing. What am I doing?
Jake’s eyes flared.
“Mmm,” she said, telling him she wanted more…much, much more. So much more that it would mean tearing down the sheet that acted as a wall between their beds.
“Ariel,” he whispered, then leaned in to kiss her. In the background she heard the phone ring, but this was one time she wasn’t going to answer.
Dear Reader,
This is a story about how love smoothes people’s rough edges, just as the waves polish stones on the beach. And Ariel Adams clearly needs some smoothing—even her name sounds sharp. And Jake Renner, for all his laid-back-beach-bum facade, needs Ariel to show him he’s outgrown looking ahead only as far as the next wave.
I share Ariel’s tendency to be ruled by plans and arrangements. I share her trouble with balancing work and fun, being able to say yes to something spontaneous. Writing about Ariel’s endless lists gave me a good laugh at myself.
And of course I adore Jake—he reminds me of my own husband, who loves water sports, too, and has a keen sense of fun. I love the way Jake nurtures Ariel with food and gives her permission to relax and enjoy life.
I hope you love Ariel and Jake as much as I do.
Best,
Dawn Atkins
P.S. I’d love to hear what you think of this book. Please write me at dawnatkins@cox.net. You can learn about my upcoming books at my Web site, www.dawnatkins.com.
Books by Dawn Atkins
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
871—THE COWBOY FLING
895—LIPSTICK ON HIS COLLAR
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
93—FRIENDLY PERSUASION
HARLEQUIN DUETS
77—ANCHOR THAT MAN!
91—WEDDING FOR ONE
TATTOO FOR TWO
Room…But Not Bored!
Dawn Atkins
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To David, for making love so easy
Contents
Chapter 1 (#u50d3a22a-684b-52e7-a608-ad962d5ac549)
Chapter 2 (#u0b5fc3b0-c09c-54af-8d20-582293405ad0)
Chapter 3 (#u700bdf75-2ee5-505a-97c1-fd28ca200eb3)
Chapter 4 (#ucd8a3500-f7fe-5479-8283-33485f98aae8)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
1
IN HEELS AND A BUSINESS SUIT, with two monstrous suitcases in her sweaty grip and her computer bag slung over her shoulder, Ariel Adams stood on the stone stairs that led down to the beach cottage she’d just acquired. She blinked against the silver flash of California sun on gentle waves and wondered what she’d done to deserve this hell.
Okay, so most people would consider the rippling ocean and white-sand beach where a man juggled driftwood for a rapt retriever and seagulls dipped and cried, to be picturesque and enticing—perfect for sunset strolls, refreshing swims and building sand castles. But Ariel Adams was not most people.
To her, the beach was too…beachy. A giant cat box with a shifty surface tough to walk on and a fishy smell. The beach meant grit and mildew and sea salt that scoured, stained and bleached everything.
No, Ariel did not like the beach. And now she had to live there. Her left eyelid twitched from exhaustion. Terminally jet-lagged after the flight from London, all she wanted was to sleep for a week. But she couldn’t afford that luxury. She had to figure out how to start her solo consulting business two years earlier than she’d planned. She sagged against the rusted guardrail, demoralized, until she repeated her mother’s motto in her head: Keep on keeping on.
Job one of keeping on was to cross this beach without ruining the high-dollar silk panty hose she’d bought in honor of her new life in London—the life her partner Trudy had thrown out the window. The twenty-seventh-floor office window of their client Paul Foster to be precise. That high up, the windows didn’t even open.
Paul and I are in love, Trudy had breathed, airy as a romance heroine, as if that were enough to explain how a perfectly sensible woman—Ariel’s mentor in this very male business—had turned into a doe-eyed fool.
Ariel had reasoned with her. Give it six months. Be certain your feelings will last. But no. Two days of harangues hadn’t cleared one iota of the sentimental glaze from Trudy’s face. Paul was taking a world tour of his holdings before he retired and Trudy was going with him. When love comes, you accept it, wherever it may lead, Trudy had said in that feminine trill she’d adopted. Had her hormones gone wonky? Had she been hypnotized? Slipped a cog? What?
This was not the plan. And planning was king at Business Advantage, Trudy’s company, into which she’d invited Ariel six months ago. They’d met when Trudy had been hired to assist with a business consolidation and Ariel had been working in-house for one of the merging companies. Trudy had been so impressed by Ariel’s talent that when Paul Foster retained Business Advantage to go to London to help the Foster Corporation make a strategic shift, Trudy had asked Ariel to become her partner in the firm—to help with the project and beyond.
That had suited Ariel just fine. Her plan had been to work with Trudy for two years—or until she felt ready to be on her own. But that plan was all gone. Trashed by Trudy. For love.
Foster had gone weird, too. Falling in love had made him decide to sell the company and live life to the fullest. Double blech. In his defense, he’d also had a cancer scare—a misdiagnosis, as it turned out—that had made him reassess his values. Ariel was all for businessmen reassessing their values—but to advance their businesses, not abandon them.
She’d so looked forward to the London experience. It was the opportunity of a lifetime to be instrumental in a highly visible corporate evolution, and meant a huge leg up for her business reputation. It would give her cachet, to be elegant about it. Not to mention international contacts. And London itself had been amazing.
But now, only three weeks into the adventure, she’d had to catch a flight back to L.A. to start her business with just a name, Trudy’s file of stale leads and her own bravado.
Before Ariel left, Trudy had given her what was left of Business Advantage, which wasn’t much, since Trudy and she had finished with their U.S. clients before the London move.
And now Ariel was on her own. With a sigh, she descended the sand-scrubbed steps to the beach house in Playa Linda, where she would live until she was financially able to move somewhere more appropriate.
Trudy had felt so guilty about abandoning Ariel, she’d practically given her the cottage, asking a ridiculous price, payable over time, that Ariel couldn’t afford to pass up. Even though living there would be like camping, the property was a prize piece of real estate. Lots of people thought beach living was nirvana.
And at least she had a home. Before the move, she’d given up her tidy apartment, contoured precisely to her habits, and put her belongings in storage along with their office equipment.
Five steps down, Ariel’s heel skidded on grit and she tilted to the side, banging her elbow on the rail.
A guy with a surfboard caught her arm from behind. “You okay, ma’am?”
Ma’am? She was only twenty-nine, darn it, no ma’am. She could be this guy’s date, not his mother. It was how she was dressed, she was certain. Her dark tailored suit, high-necked blouse and efficiently bunned hair made her seem as out-of-place as a Victorian matron in a strip club. “I’m fine,” she snapped, and the guy trotted on without a backward glance.
Ariel finished the steps and started across the sand, stepping carefully so as not to grind sand into her delicate stockings. The cottage was nestled into a low hill, with a basement garage accessible from the narrow street. If Ariel’d had the garage door opener, she could have entered that way and avoided the beach altogether, but some things couldn’t be helped.
With each wobbly step, her sleep-deprived mind churned out more bad thoughts. What if she didn’t get clients right away? She was good, she knew. She’d saved an entire division during the consolidation she and Trudy had worked on together, and the clients she’d handled for the six months she’d been part of Business Advantage had been very happy. The baby clothes boutique had doubled its profits, thanks to her, and her diversification plan had saved a computer parts manufacturer from a painful downsizing.
Handling the clients was no problem. What stopped her heart was the idea of selling herself to them in the first place. That had been Trudy’s specialty. Trudy knew promotion. She knew how to coax and cajole. In that regard, Ariel was lost at sea. A critical liability when starting a business from scratch. What if she starved? No way. She was a survivor and a worker, just like her mother. Ariel’s father had died when she was just three, but her mother hadn’t moped a minute. She’d gotten two jobs—at a laundry and a diner—and always made ends meet.
It sounded grim, but her mother was never discouraged. Adams women kept on keeping on. Ariel had spent many happy hours playing dolls under the diner tables. The waitresses talked to her in their rough, practical way—barking at her to get out from underfoot during the busy times, joining her to act out a quick Barbie and Ken date during the lulls. And to this day, the smell of laundry soap cheered her.
She would survive, all right, Ariel thought, marching forward in the thick sand. If worse came to worst, she’d get a job at a temp service or take some contract work—rare, of course—with another business planner. This was just a setback. Sweat poured down her sides under her expensive suit. That meant a dry cleaning bill. She tried to think cool thoughts as she lunged forward, lugging the bags that wouldn’t roll on the soft sand. Almost there, almost there.
Then, she was there—Trudy’s beach getaway, now her very own. Small, faded and shabby, it looked as if a good wind could topple it. She’d remembered it as more attractive that one weekend she’d spent with Trudy here laying out the plans for their partnership. Her spirits flagged for a second.
Quaint and cozy…with rustic charm. That’s how she would describe it in the real estate ad she intended to place as soon as she was flush enough to move out. You’ll look back on this and laugh, she told herself, closing her eyes for a quick visualization….
She and her husband walking among the roses in front of their ranch-style home in Thousand Oaks. His warm voice in her ear: Remember when you were a desperate newbie in a ramshackle hut cold-calling clients to afford food?
She would tip her face up to his—of course he’d be much taller—gaze into his dark eyes and give a tinkling laugh. Maybe not tinkling. Trudy’s laugh had tinkled. A gentle laugh then.
Look at you now, her dear husband would continue. You’ve hired an associate so you have more time to spend with me, your adoring husband. Shall we swim?
Then they would walk arm-in-arm to their Olympicsized pool with the dramatic black surface and bricked rim and swim slow laps, looking into each other’s eyes. Oh, and their golden retriever would run along the pool’s edge as they swam….
Much better. Ariel sighed and opened her eyes, rejuvenated by her vision of the glorious future she’d push herself to, no matter what. Now to get started. Except she hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours and she was so tired….
Keep moving, she told herself fiercely. You snooze, you lose. She marched up the stairs to the porch, her fingers burning from holding the suitcases, which clunked up each step. Sweaty and breathing heavily, she extracted Trudy’s key from her purse and put it in the lock, only to have the door yanked away from her from the inside. She stumbled two steps forward and into a man, connecting with his warm, solid, naked chest.
He gripped her arms, steadying her, holding on a few seconds longer than necessary while he studied her. His fingers were strong and reassuring, his eyes a Brad Pitt smoky blue.
“Well, hel-lo,” he said, propping her back onto her heels.
Unbalanced by the surprise—and the man—she’d only managed, “Hello,” before a black-and-white bear of a dog rushed past them from inside the cottage. On its heels was a young boy wearing a green baseball cap, who paused to slap the man on his muscular shoulder and yell, “You’re it!” before racing down the stairs and across the beach after the dog.
“Time out!” the man shouted to him, then lowered his gaze to Ariel’s. “Sorry. Jake Renner.” He lifted her limp hand and helped her shake his, his eyes full of laughter at her shock.
“Ariel Adams,” she said faintly.
“Can I help you?” He was a little taller than she was and blond, with a deep tan on a muscular body that was pretty much on full display except for baggy Hawaiian-print swim trunks. He was way too relaxed for someone who’d been caught squatting in Trudy’s empty beach house.
“Is this Trudy Walters’s place?” Maybe she’d arrived at the wrong ramshackle cottage. She could only hope.
Something trilled sharply. For a second, in her exhaustion, she feared it was her brain warning it was about to blow. But it was just her cell phone, good for only two more days before service expired.
Jake Renner leaned against the doorjamb and watched her fumble for her phone.
“What?” she said irritably into it before she’d actually activated it. Pushing the button, she said, “Hello?”
“Ariel?” The faint voice belonged to her love-crazed ex-partner.
“Thank God, Trudy. I’m at the beach house, and, you won’t believe this, but—”
“There’s a man there. I know,” Trudy said. “I didn’t get the chance to tell you. I hired him before we left for London to paint and do some fix-up so I could sell the cottage.”
Ariel glanced at Jake—his hair was beautifully sun-streaked—then turned to the side to make the conversation more private. “I wish you’d said something.”
“I’m saying it now. And there’s one more thing….” Uh-oh. “He might be living there. As part of the deal, I told him he could stay until he finishes.”
“You told him he could live here?” Her voice squeaked. She shot Jake a wan smile.
“It’s good to have someone keep an eye on things. This was killing two birds with one stone.”
“You should have warned me.”
“I was a little distracted, I guess. And you took off so fast…. Jake’s a nice guy—completely trustworthy. He’s done work for my neighbor, watched her kids while she did errands. Very sweet. I talked to him several times.”
“But he’s going to live here?” Ariel whispered through gritted teeth. “With me?” Again, she tried to smile at Jake.
“There are two bedrooms, Ariel. And he’s not going to attack you or anything…unless you want that.” Then her voice went low. “If I’d had the time, let me tell you…wowsa.”
Wowsa? So un-Trudy-like. “Why are you telling me this?” she said, exasperated, hoping the cell phone hadn’t leaked Trudy’s words to her eavesdropper.
“Love is all around, Ariel. Stop and smell the roses.”
Smell the roses? All Ariel could smell were dead fish and seaweed…and maybe a faint coconut scent coming off Jake Renner’s gleaming body. “I’ll get back to you on that,” she said, her saccharine smile going sour. Her partner—who had yanked herself up by the straps of her own Aerosoles and, by the way, had once declared relationships speed bumps on the road to success—was now spouting Zen bumper stickers from her outpost in the Twilight Zone.
“I mean it,” Trudy insisted. “Rethink your life. I’ve started doing watercolors again.”
Ariel held her tongue.
“I’m sure you can work something out with Jake. He’s very easygoing.”
Ariel shot a glance at him. Easygoing and hard-bodied. He exuded that lazily confident air that most women went for. She got a little internal zing herself. Biology was undeniable, she guessed, no matter how inconvenient.
“Look at it this way,” Trudy continued. “If you don’t like the paint colors or tile I chose, you can change them—on my dime. If you want, add a few things while he’s available.”
“I can’t afford anything more. I don’t want anything more. I…oh, hell, this is just too much to think about.”
“You’ll do great, Ariel. Soliciting clients is not that hard. Your work speaks for itself.”
Not if she couldn’t speak for her work.
“Start with my leads, use my software and call me if you need a consult. If I’m anywhere I can be reached by phone, of course.” She gave that laugh again. More a trill than a tinkle, now that Ariel thought about it. “Seriously. You have everything you need to be successful.”
Everything except clients. “I appreciate your faith in me,” Ariel said. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Bye-ee.”
Bye-ee? What had the twit on the other end of the line done with levelheaded Trudy? Was she wrapped in duct tape in a trunk somewhere? Ariel clicked off, thrust the phone back in her purse, and looked up at the nearly naked man wearing a bemused expression.
“So I guess you’re the house painter,” she said, trying to smile.
He bowed. “And the framer and the carpenter and the plasterer and, possibly, the electrician, judging from the shorts we’re getting in the bathroom.”
“Shorts in the bathroom?” she repeated weakly. Her already fuzzy brain throbbed with this new quandary. She didn’t deal well with change. Someone had definitely moved her cheese. “I need to sit down,” she said, bending to grab her suitcase handles, intending to head inside.
Jake took the bags from her, hefting them as though they weighed nothing, and held the door. She moved inside, sand grinding in her shoes, anxiety burning in her stomach. She caught more of Jake’s scent as she passed—warm sunshine, sweet musk and coconut—pleasant in a beachy kind of way.
She looked around the tiny living room and her heart sank. There wasn’t even a place to sit. Drop cloths covered what few pieces of furniture fit in the small space. Pieces of Sheetrock were propped against a canvas-covered lump—the sofa. Boards lay on the floor along with boxes of nails, tools, masking tape and a few cans of paint. More drop cloths covered two side chairs and the cocktail table.
There were two fancy bicycles leaning on one wall—one disassembled—and a colorful, battered surfboard braced against the half wall that led to the kitchen.
Jake set down her bags, shoved some of the sofa’s canvas away, and motioned gallantly for her to sit in the space he’d cleared. She dropped there with an unladylike plunk.
“Better?” he said.
“A little.”
Jake lowered himself onto a drop-cloth–covered chair very close to her, the muscles of his legs and chest rolling with his movement. How she managed to fixate on his body at a time like this was beyond her. It must be raw exhaustion. Like a hypnosis subject transfixed by a shiny object, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. You’re getting sleepier and sleepier…warmer and warmer…more and more aroused…
“Things are a little confusing,” she said, trying to clear her head. “Trudy sold me this house while we were in London and now…”
“And now I’m fixing it up for you. No problemo.” He had the bluest eyes and an expressive mouth—very broad, like it spent most of its time smiling.
“Yes, problemo,” she corrected. “I have to live here, you see. And work here. And—”
“Not to worry. I’m a great roommate.”
“I’m sure you are, but, I don’t really want a roommate.” Or a construction site. Jake obviously wasn’t one of those craftsmen who prided themselves on working neatly. Supplies were scattered from one end of the room to the other. God knows what the rest of the house looked like.
“I don’t either, but I’m flexible.” He shrugged. “You can have the master bedroom, since it’s your house.”
She stared at him. “As I just said, I would prefer the place to myself.”
He looked at her, blinked, smiled.
“I’m a business consultant,” she explained. It was difficult work that requires concentration, quiet and order and—at the minimum—a room for an office. She surveyed the living room and it looked the way her life felt—confused and chaotic. Despair welled up. She rested her elbows on her knees and held her head in her hands.
“You’re freaked right now,” Jake said softly. “Give it a few days and see how it works out.”
She lifted her head and stared at him.
He grinned. “What, you want to kick me out today? Make me sleep on the beach?”
“I’m sure you have family or friends you can stay with.”
He just looked at her with those smoky blue eyes. She knew silence was a negotiating tool meant to put the opponent on the defensive, get him to blurt a concession, and she felt herself succumbing, maybe because Jake was disconcertingly handsome and so…naked. And his eyes seemed to see more than she intended to reveal. “You just get into town?” he asked gently.
“Yes. I just flew in from London.”
“And, boy, are your arms tired.”
“Funny.” Not.
“Just kidding. You look beat. Why don’t you get out of that monkey suit and get some rest? When you’re feeling better we can talk this all out, calm and easy.”
She stifled the urge to point out that they had talked it out. She would stay; he would go. She’d give him a bit to realize she was serious. She didn’t want to come across too harshly. It wasn’t his fault Trudy had double-booked them.
“Come on and I’ll show you your bedroom.” He took her by the elbow and helped her to her feet. She usually disliked men she’d barely met presuming to touch her, even casually, but this felt okay—friendly and helpful, not pushy—and he let go of her as soon as she was upright.
She walked beside him to the short, narrow hall that led to two bedrooms and a bath, her elbow still warm from his fingers.
“I’ll move into this room,” Jake said, indicating the guest room. What had been a tidy room, accented by lacy pillows and silk flowers when she’d stayed with Trudy, was packed with equipment—oxygen tanks and rubber scuba suits, big duffels, some with fins sticking out, a pole with rope hanging off it, possibly the boom of a sailboat, two more surfboards, one of which had a sail, and a stationary bike.
How could anybody even find the bed, let alone sleep in it?
Even worse, the room was missing most of one wall. Through the ragged edge of Sheetrock she could see straight into the second bedroom and the rumpled bed where Jake must sleep.
“There’s no wall!” she exclaimed, turning to him.
“Wood rot from a ceiling leak, so I had to knock it out.”
“How can we…you…? I mean…we can’t sleep like this!” They might as well be in the same room.
“I don’t snore, I swear,” he said, then read her face. “We’ll put a sheet up if you want. And, relax, I won’t bother you—no sleepwalking or…whatever.”
She knew what he meant by whatever and was a tad miffed he’d said it so fast. She was reasonably attractive, but he’d written her off like the dude with the surfboard who’d called her ma’am. She put her hair in a bun because it was efficient and it revealed her neck—one of her better features. “The sheet will do for tonight,” she said firmly, ignoring the wound to her femininity. “And you can make other living arrangements tomorrow.”
“Check out your room,” he said, ducking below the top edge of the torn wall and stepping over the baseboard. He offered his hand. She ignored it—she could climb into a room on her own, thank you—and joined him. The master bedroom was only a couple feet larger than the guest room, and held more Jake debris—personal items in cheerful disarray—swim trunks on the floor, T-shirts in a corner, a guitar and a weight bench. He’d really made himself at home in the three weeks he’d been here.
Jake reached past her to pick a pillow off the floor, which he tossed onto the rumpled bed. “Sheets are pretty fresh—washed yesterday—but I’ll change them if you want.”
“I’m sure they’re fine,” she said.
“It’s a great mattress. Try it out.” He motioned at it.
She flashed on the activities that would call for him to put the mattress through its paces and tensed. “I’ll take your word for it.” No way was she lying on a bed looking up at a mostly naked Jake.
He bent beside her and grabbed a T-shirt and some shorts, his thigh muscles flexing, his trunks tight over his butt. Wow. Jake might act lazy, but there was nothing lazy about his body. Not an ounce of fat hid the muscles of his legs, arms and back, and his abdomen was corrugated, thanks, no doubt, to the weight bench. The fleeting image of Jake pumping iron turned Ariel’s insides to jelly.
Jake stood. She dragged her eyes away, but too late. He caught her staring and grinned. “I’ll clear out my gear later so you can catch some zs. Take your clothes off, though. You’ll sleep better.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said.
He seemed to be disrobing her all on his own, so she crossed her arms over her chest.
He smiled. You got me, his eyes cheerfully conceded.
That friendly X-ray stare made up for Jake’s earlier dismissal. Superficial of her maybe, but as a woman she felt better.
“How about I make you a protein and banana smoothie?” he said. “You need potassium. Flying zaps your salts.”
“Thanks, anyway. I’m really fine. Sleep will help.”
“When you get up then.” Jake left the room, taking up the entire doorway as he went. She realized he’d shrugged off the eviction like she hadn’t said a thing. She’d rectify that later—be polite, but firm. Exhaustion and the undercurrent of attraction had weakened her usual resolve. She’d take a power nap and bounce back.
Making sure the bedroom door was locked, she took off her jacket, blouse and skirt—the monkey suit Jake had called it—and slipped her bra off under her slip, which she’d sleep in.
Removing her shoes, she carefully peeled down her silk stockings, pleased the sand hadn’t damaged them. She folded them and placed them on the bureau. Then she collapsed onto the bed and shut her eyes. It felt so good to lie down. Everything would seem better after a nap.
Jake’s coconut smell rose to her nose from the pillow—pleasant, if too intimate. It was thoughtful of Jake to suggest sleep.
She was just drifting off when she heard a series of bangs, clunks and rattles from the kitchen, which was so close in the tiny house it might as well have been in her room. Then came the horrific roar of a blender. Jake making a smoothie, no doubt.
After that, someone pounded on the front door. She heard a kid’s eager voice, a dog’s bark and the scrabble of nails on the wooden floor. God. Her new home was close quarters for two people, especially when one of them was as noisy, popular and, she was forced to admit, attractive as Jake Renner. So much for peace. So much for sleep.
Jake better find a place to stay right away, or she’d find him one herself.
2
JAKE GAVE RICKIE a couple of boards and some paint and promised to help him with the tree house tomorrow. Rickie had haunted the beach house from the moment Jake arrived three weeks ago. He was lonely and his parents were divorcing, so Jake had played catch with him a couple times, then introduced himself to Rickie’s mother, so she’d know he was okay. Then he’d met the sitter—a definite dating prospect, which enhanced things considerably.
He couldn’t break away now, though. He had the bike to fix for Barry and he wanted to be around when his new roommate got up. He turned his CD player down a little, in deference to the sleeping woman, though he thought he’d heard her moving around.
Jumpy. The way she’d barreled into him at the door showed she was wired for action. If she hadn’t been so tired, she’d have had him packed and out on his ass right now. Despite her jet-lagged befuddlement, her knotted hair, business suit and erect posture spoke volumes about her personality. Gung-ho, no nonsense, maximally serious.
He wasn’t moving out, he already knew that. He’d given up his closet of a basement apartment and he liked having room for all his equipment in one place and living where he was working. Besides, he couldn’t afford rent if he wanted the scratch he needed to fund his sister Penny’s trip.
He’d have to get Ariel comfortable living with him—make her life as smooth as the gearing on Barry’s Guerciotti, which he was working on right now—so she’d forget all about him leaving.
He adjusted the triple-gear unit, then spun the pedals. Much better. He liked getting his hands on equipment. That was one thing he’d learned from his father, Admiral Shipshape—how to handle machinery. It made up a little for the commands and the regulations and the misery when he was growing up.
His father better not be as hard on Penny as he’d been on him. Penny claimed not, but she was too sweet to fight back.
That made Jake remember that she was planning to check out the beach house this weekend. Not a good idea with his landlord on-site. Having a teen guest—even one as smart and sweet as Pen—would definitely annoy Ariel Adams. He put down the bike and grabbed the phone to postpone the visit a couple weeks.
“Renner residence, Jake here.” His father. Damn. He hated talking to the man, hated that air of disappointment—thick as the slabs of beef his dad loved to grill in the back yard—that permeated every conversation.
“Hello, sir.”
“Jake Junior, how are you?”
“Fine, sir. Penny there?”
“Yes, she is.” Pause. Stern silence. “You haven’t been to the house in two months.”
“I’ve been busy. Charters and a house-painting job…” He let his words trail off.
“You owe it to your mother to present yourself from time to time.”
For inspection. Shoes shined, tie straight. His dad was Navy to his bones. “I’ll come out in a week or two.”
“Saturday, the fifteenth? I’ll let her know.”
“That depends….” But the last thing he needed was another argument with his dad. “All right. The fifteenth.”
The admiral was silent on the other end. He had something else on his mind or he would have gone for Penny. These conversations were as awkward for him as they were for Jake. “Made any progress, son?” he finally said. That was Admiral Renner code for settling down—having a real job, a wife, becoming a man with responsibilities, debts, burdens.
“Every day is progress, sir,” he said with a sigh. He’d be damned if he’d do anything in life the way his dad had done it.
Silence. Then his father said tightly, “I’ll get your sister.”
Why did Jake’s heart thud after these exchanges? He was almost thirty years old. It was the shame in his father’s voice. His only son was a footloose bum he couldn’t brag about with the other officers, whose kids were in the Academy or the diplomatic corps or were lawyers or computer whizzes. He felt the shame heat his face. Ridiculous. What did he care what his narrow-minded father thought? Unlike his father, Jake enjoyed life. Enjoyment was not a duty, so Admiral Renner didn’t make room for it.
And as far as being footloose, that was something he’d learned as a kid, thanks to his father’s transfers from naval base to naval base—Virginia to Florida to California. Jake had learned how to let go when he needed to. Now, when things got weird or dull or troublesome, it was easy to just leave.
As a kid, it had hurt, being forced away from things he loved—the swim team, girlfriends, great buds, even teachers who’d inspired him. But he got used to it and it taught him to be flexible, open to new things that were just as worthwhile.
Moving around had been tough, but that was only the launching pad for his struggles with his by-the-book father. Jake had never met a rule he liked, and he made sure his father knew it.
“Hey, Jake,” Penny chirped.
“Hey there, Squirrel, how are you?”
“Good. I got second place in the swim meet.”
“Terrific. Did the Admiral stop picking on you about your grades?” It wasn’t until he’d left home that Jake realized that Penny might be paying the price for his rebellion. His parents were overprotective and kept her close to home, under watch.
“He wasn’t picking on me. He was concerned about me, that’s all. Parents do that. It’s a duty.”
“There’s more to school than grades, Pen. Don’t let him browbeat you.”
“Chill, would you? I want good grades, too. For college.”
“There’s plenty of time for college. You have to live life.” As soon as she graduated high school, he was making sure she got to spend a year in Europe. That was what she wanted, though she’d stopped talking about it. He’d seen the flyer on her desk when he was home at Thanksgiving—Study Abroad. See Europe and earn college credit. He’d asked her about it and she’d sounded so jazzed until she read him the costs. Then her enthusiasm faded. Too much money. She didn’t have to say it.
That was when he decided he would make it happen. He’d pay her way, arrange everything, including running interference with the old man. Jake would not let Penny suffer for his sins. As soon as she had her high school diploma, he’d break her out of the brig his parents kept her in.
“So, I can’t wait for this weekend,” Penny said. “You can teach us to surf—I’m bringing Sheila. She wants to sailboard.”
“Um, that’s kind of why I called,” he said, hating to disappoint her. She asked for so little from him—or anyone. “We’ll have to postpone the trip for a couple weeks.”
“Postpone it? Why?”
“The living situation has changed. It turns out the owner sold the cottage and now I’ve got a landlord living here.”
“So, we’ll bring sleeping bags and crash on the floor.”
“Not yet. She’s a little touchy right now.”
“She? Your landlord’s a woman?”
“Yeah.”
“She single?”
“Why does that matter?”
“So turn on the Jake charm already.”
“I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t kick me out on my ass.”
“Does she have eyes? Ears? A libido?”
“Libido? That is not a word you should even understand, let alone use.”
“I’m sixteen, Jake. I’m a woman. With womanly needs.”
“That’s enough of that.” The whole idea creeped him out. “You take it slow. You have your whole life to get involved in…that stuff….” He felt himself flush. Penny needed a solid guy who would look out for her, worship the ground she walked on, and only when she was mature enough to get serious.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she said. “You sure I can’t come?”
“Sorry.”
“I guess Mom and I will rent movies or something.”
“Go out with friends. Don’t let them trap you at home.”
“They don’t lock me in a tower. If you’re so worried about me, talk your landlord into letting me stay. What’s her name?”
“Ariel.”
“That’s pretty. Is she? Pretty, I mean.”
“She’s all right.” Compactly built, with everything in the right place from what he could see through the business suit. For a moment, he thought of sleeping with her. Bad idea if he wanted to live here through the summer and maybe beyond.
Sleeping with a roommate was a mistake he’d learned from Charlotte. She’d agreed they’d keep it light, just enjoy each other, but then she wanted to know where he was every minute, pouted if he wasn’t home for dinner, acted like a wife, for God’s sake. Then he’d hurt her feelings. He’d hated that. Why did women think they could change him? Why did they even want to? He was who he was and that ought to be enough.
“So, why not…see what happens?” Penny said.
“We are not having this conversation, Pen.”
“Okay. I just wish you’d find someone special so you’d stop hassling me.”
“I’m just looking out for you.”
“Then get me invited to the beach house.”
“I will. As soon as I’m sure I’m staying.”
“If she’s a woman, you’ll be staying.”
He wasn’t sure how to take that and did not like his sister even hinting about his love life. “Do something fun this weekend,” he commanded, then hung up, his roommate jumping into his mind. She’d be hot in bed, he’d bet—active, motivated, goal-oriented. Useful traits in the sack. Hmm.
Nope. He needed Ariel as a roommate, not a playmate.
A PUFF OF DAMP AIR blew Ariel awake. Had she left the window of her London flat open to the drizzle? She opened her eyes just as a wet, black blob snorted at her. Focusing one eye, she made out an animal muzzle and realized it was attached to the dog that had burst out of the house when she’d first arrived. Pleased that he’d awakened her, the dog pranced a couple of steps, then shook itself mightily, spraying water and sand everywhere.
The reality of Ariel’s situation came back to her like a belly flop in the pool of her stomach. Gone was the charming London flat she’d shared with Trudy, replaced by a cramped beach house jammed with water sports junk and construction debris. She picked up the sound of rock-and-roll playing in the front of the house and a woman’s teasing laugh, followed by Jake’s voice.
The dog, poised near her face, gave a desperate whine—get up and play. When Ariel didn’t move, he loped to the more interesting side of the house.
She felt gritty all over—her skin, her hair, her eyes. It wasn’t her exhausted imagination, she learned when she found sand on the sheets and pressed into the undersides of her arms.
The fading light told her it was dusk. Woozy and not a bit rested, she looked at her travel alarm, which she’d taken from her bag when Jake’s banging around the cottage woke her for the third time, and saw that she’d only napped for an hour.
She looked at the giant hole in the wall between her room and where Jake would sleep. Judging from the lush sound of that woman’s voice, Jake might have company tonight. She’d like to tell him no—the last thing she wanted to hear were erotic moans and headboard banging—but she wasn’t sure she wanted to bring up sex with him in any regard. She’d only have to put up with his nocturnal guests for one night, maybe two, until Jake moved out.
Ariel brushed off the grit, climbed out of bed and went to the bureau mirror to see if she looked as bad as she felt. Oh, yeah. Her hair had come loose from her bun, her mascara formed exhausted semicircles under her eyes and she had the indents of sand pebbles all along her left cheek.
She felt something soft under her feet and found her silk stockings in a tangled wad. Clusters of holes and long runs decorated the delicate silk. She’d protected them from sand damage only to have that monstrous dog nose them off her bureau and ruin them. She didn’t even have the energy to work up a fit of temper at the dog. At least she had a second pair in her suitcase.
“Jake, don’t,” the woman called in a tone that meant don’t stop. Feminine wiles and coy flirtation. Blech. Ariel didn’t play games. If she wanted to sleep with a man, which she did from time to time, she showed him with a deep kiss, or responded favorably to his caress. Or she just plain suggested it. Why get silly about something so basic and human?
Of course, lately, with Business Advantage consuming her attention, there hadn’t been much time for sex. Which was probably why she kept getting snagged by the sight of Jake’s body. Once her career was in order, she would open herself to a relationship. The timing would be perfect.
Now, she’d unpack, then write up business and personal to-do lists. Lists would put a fence around her whirlwind of worries. She had to make progress before she went to bed for the night or she’d never fall asleep.
She glanced around the jam-packed room. She’d have to pry Jake away from the Playmate of the Day and get him to clear out his junk before she could even unpack. Then she’d pin him down on the time frame on the cottage renovation.
That meant looking decent enough to appear in the living room. Ariel ran a brush through her hair, changed into a linen short set and slipped into the bathroom to repair her makeup. She wasn’t primping exactly. She just didn’t want to look as bedraggled as she felt. At the last minute, she dabbed perfume on her wrists and neck.
Peeking around the hall corner, she saw that Jake and his friend, who wore a bikini that consisted of three bandage-sized triangles held together by dental floss, were dancing swing style to some nouveau jitterbug. The dog jumped up now and then as if to cut in—to dance with Jake, not the woman, who laughed in that lush way that meant business, sexually.
Jake smiled, but there was distance in his expression. Don’t get too close. She wondered fleetingly what it would take to get past Jake Renner’s affable sexuality to what made him tick.
Not that that was any of her concern. The dancing made her smile, though, and set her thoughts wandering. She’d needed an aerobic exercise in college and selected ballroom dance since she’d be learning a skill and getting exercise at the same time. The grace and freedom of it had enchanted her. She’d met Grayson in that class and they’d begun their affair. She missed dancing. How long had it been since she’d moved to music, alone or with a partner? Once the business was stable she would have fun, too, she told herself. All in good time. And according to plan. Planning gave you freedom.
Jake caught sight of Ariel and stopped dancing. “Sleeping Beauty awakes,” he said. “Heather, meet my landlord, Ariel Adams. Ariel, this is Heather.”
“Hi,” Heather said. Her expression was direct—are you after him?
No, thanks, she tried to communicate with her eyes. “Nice to meet you, Heather.”
“You get some rest?” Jake asked her.
“Some.” Except for the blender and the visiting kid and the giggling girl and the music and the snorting dog. But there was no point getting technical. “Sorry to interrupt,” she continued, “but I was hoping you would clear your things out of my room…?”
“I guess I should go,” Heather said to Jake. “See you later tonight?” she asked, establishing ownership, presumably for Ariel’s benefit. “For the volleyball game at Ollie’s?”
“If I’m up for it,” he said, his tone clearly saying Don’t push.
Poor Heather. She probably hadn’t figured out this guy was as elusive as he was handsome.
“We’ll have fun. I promise.”
“You don’t need me to have fun,” he said.
A tiny frown appeared between the woman’s sharply plucked brows, and she looked from Ariel to Jake, assessing the danger of them getting together. In the end, she sighed, picked up a sarong and a beach bag from a drop-cloth–draped chair, said, “Ciao,” and left. Jake watched her go, admiring her casually—like someone appreciating a work of art, knowing there was a museum’s worth beyond it.
The dog watched Heather leave, then honed in on Jake, ready for action. When Jake made no move to follow the girl, the dog plopped onto its substantial belly, spread-legged, scattering sand.
“Is this your dog?” Ariel asked, praying it wasn’t. The last thing she wanted was to be snuffled awake again by a sandy-pawed canine. Even one with eyes as big and brown as a bear’s.
“Lucky? Nah, his owners live down the beach, but he hangs with me a lot. We’re buds, aren’t we, Luck Man?”
The dog looked up at him with pure worship on his doggie mug. Sure are, boss.
“Time to head home, pal,” Jake said, “before your owners start worrying.” He held the door for Lucky, who seemed to droop, like a kid called home for supper, and slowly walked out the door, his back end swaying regretfully.
Ariel couldn’t help smiling at the sight.
Jake caught the look. “Great dog, huh?”
“He sheds a lot of sand.”
“Be glad he didn’t bring in another starfish. Hid one under the bed once. Talk about stink.”
Great.
“So, I bet you’re hungry,” Jake said.
“Starving,” she blurted. Her stomach rumbled in agreement. The last thing she’d had was a sad Salisbury steak on the plane.
“Good. I was just about to fix some huevos whateveros.”
“Huevos what?”
“Eggs with whatever I find in the refrigerator. Topped with salsa—I make my own.”
“I don’t want to put you out,” she said. She should get unpacked first, but eating would give her the boost she’d need to look over Trudy’s contact tracking software and gear up for making calls tomorrow.
“So I throw in a couple extra eggs. Easy.” He started for the kitchen. “We’re roommates, right?” he said over his shoulder.
Not for long, she wanted to say, but she’d give it a rest until they’d eaten. She could hardly expect Jake to drag that weight bench out of her room on an empty stomach.
She headed into the kitchen to help.
3
“WHAT CAN I DO?” Ariel said when she reached the kitchen.
“Just keep me company,” Jake said. He opened the refrigerator and reached inside, demonstrating what a marvel of biological engineering his body was. Smoothly swelling muscles fanned out, tightened and released in delightful synchronicity as he shifted things around. And his skin was a golden brown….
Stop. What was she doing? Her travel-fogged brain kept honing in on Jake’s anatomy. She should be worrying about the “whatever was in the refrigerator.” If Jake was like most guys, it would be leftover Chinese, ketchup and maybe wilted lettuce.
She was relieved when he stood with an armload of fresh items—an avocado, some mushrooms, Muenster cheese and a plastic-wrapped container of what looked like fresh spinach.
“Are you sure I can’t do anything?” she asked. To keep from ogling you?
“Not a thing,” he said. The way he snapped on the gas stove, deftly whacked off a hunk of butter and flipped it onto a serious omelet pan seemed to indicate he knew his way around a kitchen—or at least an egg dish.
The kitchen was small—no, cozy, she corrected, thinking like a real estate agent. The counter space was modest, but charming—tiny blue-and-white tiles with decent grout. The sink, however, was battered and rust-stained and the faucet appeared corroded. She’d have to replace it. Kitchens and bathrooms were big selling features, she knew, and a good place to spend renovation dollars. The stove was an older model, but clean and it seemed to work.
The wallpaper was outdated, but high shelves held decorative plates with ocean themes, attractive driftwood pieces, and several plants—curly bamboo and an orchid—that gave the room character and life.
“I can at least set the table,” she said, going to the cupboard beside him, where she assumed the plates were. She found flower vases, mixing bowls and sports bottles instead.
“Up there,” Jake raised his chin at the cupboard directly above him, his hands busy cutting mushrooms.
“Excuse me,” she said, reaching past him.
“Take your time,” he said, not moving an inch. She felt his eyes on her, sensed his lazy grin, and prickled from the abrupt intimacy of it all. Snatching two plates, even though they didn’t match, she decided to wait until Jake left the counter to get the water glasses from the higher shelf.
The silverware was in the first drawer she opened, thank goodness. Unwilling to hunt for napkins, probably in the drawer at Jake’s groin, she ripped two paper towels from the under-cupboard hanging roll, then moved to the table, which held more Jake accoutrements—a bike repair manual, a set of wrenches and a stack of magazines named for S sports: Sail, Scuba, Surf.
“So, you seem to do a lot of water things,” she said to make conversation while she set the table.
“Why else live at the beach? Being in water feels good.”
Pool water, maybe, which was clear and clean, not mucky like the ocean and full of creepy weeds and mysterious creatures you couldn’t see. Plus, saltwater burned her eyes.
Finished setting the table, she watched Jake efficiently chop a hunk of red onion into tiny squares that he sprinkled into the bubbling butter. Great hands.
Ariel forced herself to look away. Her gaze snagged on the kitchen linoleum. Bleached, scarred and cracked, it should be replaced. She hoped that was part of Jake’s job. If not, she’d have to pay for it herself.
Now was a good time to find out what Trudy had asked him to do. She’d be gentle, not her usual blunt self. The man was cooking for her, after all. “I guess the construction company you work for gives you a lot of free time for your sports?”
Jake gave a short laugh. “Construction company?” He glanced at her as he picked up an avocado. Cupping it, he deftly coaxed it out of its hull with such easy grace she found it hard to swallow. “I work for myself.”
“So, how, um, did you get into construction?”
“I’m not really into it,” he said, fanning the slices in a gourmet-worthy display onto the cutting board. “I have buddies in the business.” He began cubing the Muenster.
He’d learned construction from buddies? Drinking buddies, no doubt, who swapped construction feats of derring-do over pitchers of margs. The guy was a beach bum, pure and simple. A charming bum, but still a bum. Maybe Trudy’s good sense had run amok long before she headed for London.
“So Trudy says you worked on her neighbor’s place?” she asked, wanting some credentials.
“Yeah. It was fun. And then Trudy offered me this gig.”
Gig? This was a gig? “So, you’re not a builder, per se?”
“Nah. I teach scuba, sailing, surfing, repair bikes, this and that.”
At least he had other income—he’d be able to afford rent when he moved out. “So, tell me what Trudy’s asked you to do.”
“This and that,” he said, snapping eggs one-handed and lightning-quick into a bowl.
“Specify, please.”
“Okay. Let’s see…patch the roof…repair the wall between the bedrooms…deal with the electrical, replace the wallpaper in the living room and kitchen…paint inside and out…replace the kitchen linoleum with tile…” He looked up, considering. “That’s it, I think.”
“That’s a lot,” she said, grateful that Trudy had arranged to have so much done, but worried about living through the chaos of a messy worker. On the other hand, if she cancelled some of the work, when would she be able to afford it? “And how long do you expect it to take?”
“Two-three months. Depends.”
“Depends on what?” What time he got up in the morning? Whether he needed to consult a manual? “That seems too long.”
“You can’t rush quality,” he said, dumping the egg mixture into the omelet pan, pausing to deliver a wicked smile.
“Oh, yes, you can. I would think a month would be plenty. Let’s aim for that. Speed is crucial since this will be my office, too, until I can afford to lease space.”
“You won’t get in my way,” Jake said, sprinkling cheese on the omelet.
“But you’ll get in mine,” she said as gently as she could. “I’ll try to meet clients in their offices—more convenient for them—but I’m sure I’ll need to see a few people here, and I’ll need peace and order for that. The second bedroom will be my office, but until you move out, the living room will have to do. That means the painting stuff must be organized.”
“The sunporch would make a great office,” Jake said, pointing a spatula in the direction of the door out back.
Through the window in the door, she could see tattered window screens, plastic patio furniture, another surfboard and lots of sand. “Hardly. I’ll have business equipment—a computer, a printer, a fax machine. Wind and sand would ruin them. Not to mention how easy it would be to break in.”
Jake jerked the pan so that the food-packed omelet neatly folded in half, and brought it to the table. “I can put up some Plexiglas and a solid door. The awning gives nice shade. Most people would kill for an office overlooking the ocean.” He cut the steaming egg dish in two and slid one side deftly onto her plate, the other onto his, then sat across from her.
“But I can’t incur additional expenses.”
“Don’t worry about the money. It’ll work out.”
“Money never works out without careful attention….” She was momentarily distracted by the omelet, which smelled so heavenly her stomach convulsed with joyful anticipation. “Anyway, I’d like you to finish the living room first. The electrical seems critical, as well. I’d prefer you do the noisy things when I’m not working—early mornings and early evenings—or at least coordinate with my schedule. When you’re ready to start on the kitchen, I can plan for takeout meals.”
“I’ll handle the food,” Jake said. “If you like my cooking, of course.” He plopped a dollop of fragrant salsa—finely chopped tomatoes, onions and fresh cilantro—onto her portion of the omelet. “Give it a try,” he said, pushing the plate closer.
She wanted to finish her plan first, but to satisfy him, she took a bite.
Oh. Wow. The buttery, cheesy eggs melted on her tongue. The mushrooms were a sweet musk, the onions tangy pearls of flavor, the salsa a spicy tomato garden. “This is sooo good,” she said, barely pausing to swallow before taking another bite.
“I’m glad you like it.” Their eyes locked and Ariel felt an alarming sizzle that made her stop chewing. Jake took in her face, then strayed to her chest in an involuntary carnal appraisal. He lifted his eyes to hers, looking pleased with what he’d seen. “Any dietary restrictions? Particular foods you like or dislike?” he asked, making it sound like he was asking after her sexual preferences.
“I like, um, everything.” That sounded bad.
“I could resurface the wood floors, too, you know,” he murmured, equally suggestively. “If I had enough time…”
He seemed to be trying to seduce her…with smooth omelets and gleaming wood floors. And it was working. Freshly surfaced floors would really make the place attractive to buyers….
Stop it. Jake was flirting with her, bribing her. “I can’t afford the floors,” she said, deliberately breaking the gaze.
Jake shrugged. We’ll see, he seemed to be saying.
Ariel went after the omelet again.
Jake chuckled and she looked up, still chewing. “I like it that you’re not afraid to enjoy food. I hate when women nibble and pretend not to be hungry.”
“I’m not much on pretense,” she said, swallowing her last bite. Jake still had half of his omelet.
“No, you get right to the point, all right,” he said. “Like I know you want me to move out of here right away.”
“I think that would be best,” she said, putting down her fork with reluctance, glancing again at all the eggs Jake wasn’t eating. She should have savored hers more…. “I’ve got a lot to handle and this place is too small for two people and a construction zone.” She felt guilty ogling his omelet while she was talking about booting him onto the beach.
“Here,” he said, cutting her a bite of his eggs and holding it out—an intimate gesture that he made seem perfectly natural.
“No, no. I’m fine.” She shook her head. “I had plenty.”
He moved the fork closer, tempting her.
She took the bite quickly, avoiding eye contact, feeling shaky inside. Then the fabulous taste overcame her. “Mmm,” she said. “This is amazing.”
“People love my mixed grill, too. I stuff the meat with chorizo—do you eat meat?”
“Yes.”
“Good. My enchiladas aren’t bad, either.”
“I can imagine,” she said, loving the sound of that. She’d have to get an aerobic exercise plan immediately if she was going to eat any more of Jake’s cooking…which she wouldn’t be for any more than two days. At the most.
“And I make great coffee.” He was hitting her where she was vulnerable, which, right now, was her stomach. “And I’m good company,” he continued, leaning forward, very companionable, very warm…. She had the odd feeling he was tempted to kiss her. And, worse, she kind of liked the idea. She licked her lips, which made Jake take in a little breath before he continued speaking. “How do you feel about…?”
Kissing? Love it. Live for it. She felt herself sway toward him, transfixed by his great lips and teasing smile.
“Poker,” he finished.
Poker? Was poker code for what she thought they were talking about?
“Yeah. I like to have people over for all-night games.”
“All night?”
“Yeah. Five-card draw. There’s an ante limit.”
The daze cleared abruptly. What was wrong with her? Jake was talking about poker, not poker. She was obviously feeling overwhelmed by all the changes and the work she faced and was using this physical attraction as an escape valve. Talk about self-defeating. She had to focus on her goal, not on kissing or poker and any of its double meanings.
“So, you’ve only been here three weeks and you’ve got friends hanging out for poker and enchiladas?”
“I know people in Playa Linda, and I’ve lived up and down the coast. The marina where I work a lot is close. And I make friends pretty easy.”
Friends like Heather, no doubt. Friends she didn’t want sleeping over.
“I’m sure you’re good company and you’re a great cook, Jake, but the problem still stands.”
He spoke in a John Wayne drawl, “This town ain’t big enough for the both of us, Pilgrim. That what you mean?”
“Exactly.”
“Do I make you uncomfortable? Is that it?” he asked, his blue eyes digging in.
There was no point in fibbing. “Yes, actually, you do.”
“I don’t mean to. You don’t have to worry. I don’t believe in fooling around with roommates.”
“Excuse me?” She felt her cheeks go red.
“It’s nothing personal. It just gets too complicated.”
“Oh, it does?” she said. For some reason, she was wounded that he’d said that so easily—as if she weren’t even a temptation. Her inner wild child purred to life—out of sheer stubbornness and exhaustion-induced recklessness.
“Somebody always wants to turn it into something it isn’t,” Jake added.
“And I’m guessing that somebody’s never you.”
Jake shrugged. “Living together triggers nesting instincts for women, I guess, and they start bringing in twigs and bits of twine and dryer fuzz.”
“So you think any woman who lived with you would try to trap you into something permanent?” What an arrogant…
He grinned. “Good point. Not every woman, but why risk it? A good roommate is like gold.”
“I doubt you’d find me a good roommate. I like spic-and-span orderliness and absolute peace and quiet. And classical music.”
“Classical’s good. And don’t be so down on yourself.”
“I’m not down on myself. I’m trying to tell you—” She stopped, realizing he was teasing her.
“It’s all right, Ariel. I’ll find a place to crash for a while—maybe stay on a friend’s boat. Can I keep my gear here though?”
“Your gear? If you can fit it all in the guest room closet, I guess.” She remembered the sailboard and surfboards and the weight bench. No way would that fit in one small closet. She sighed. “Take a couple of days,” she said, “and find a place for you and your stuff.”
“Great.” He sounded relieved. Too relieved. She would stay on his case until he was out. Fully out. Surfboards and all.
“Thanks for the food,” she said, picking up her scraped-clean plate and his. She’d do the dishes as a thank you.
“I’ll clean up when I get back from volleyball,” Jake said. “Why don’t you come with? I’m heading out in a couple hours.”
“No thanks.” Playing was the last thing on her mind. “How about if you clear your things out of my room, while I do the dishes?”
Before he could respond, there was a thump at the door. Jake went to answer it. Lucky bounded in with did ya miss me? all over his doggie face.
“So you smelled the omelet, huh, pal?” he said to the big dog. “She ate your share.” He stuck a thumb at Ariel, but Lucky didn’t take his eyes from Jake. “Okay, okay. I’ll scramble you something.”
“I thought table scraps were bad for dogs.”
“But eggs make his coat shiny,” Jake said, ruffling Lucky’s fur. “He likes my cooking, don’t you, Bucko?”
Ariel did the few dishes while Jake cooked eggs for Lucky. When he’d finished, he slipped the pan into her soapy water.
“So you’ll empty the room now?” she reminded him.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a fake salute. “Let’s roll, Luck Man. We have our orders.”
Lucky swiped his buttery mug with a long pink tongue, then galloped eagerly after Jake. Ariel’s gaze snagged on Jake’s terrific butt, the muscles flexing and releasing with grace and power. With a jolt she realized she was letting soapy water drip onto her feet. Stay on task, she told herself. At least she’d gotten Jake to move out of her room. Next would be the cottage.
But when she peeked into her bedroom ten minutes later, the only change was a pile of vintage Hawaiian shirts on the bed—tossed there from the open closet, which still held a variety of footwear like hiking boots, cycling and athletic shoes and Velcro-strapped sandals, as well as another surfboard.
Jake stood at the bureau flipping through a magazine while he did one-handed wrist curls with a substantial hand weight, Lucky at his feet, looking up at him. What’s next, boss?
“How’s the moving going?” she asked. “Can I help?”
“Fine.” He smiled at her, his biceps swelling with a slow curl, his triceps rippling with its release.
Her objection died on her tongue at the sight of all that power on casual display. She averted her gaze and noticed a photo on the bureau. Four people were pictured—a stern man in a uniform, a pretty woman with a pageboy cut, a young girl and a teen boy—Jake with shoulder-length hair, dark baggy clothes and a sullen expression that was the opposite of the carefree, wiseass look she’d seen so far.
“So, this is your family?” she asked.
Jake stopped lifting weights and looked over her shoulder. “Yep. Ten years ago or so. I was nineteen, I think.”
“You don’t look too happy.”
“I wasn’t.” He studied the photo. “My father and I fought—he was career Navy and I was as far from shipshape as I could get myself.”
“That must have been rough.”
“Everybody rebels,” he said, but she could tell there was more he wasn’t saying.
“So you moved a lot? Being in the military?”
“Some.”
Standing close to him, she was aware of how broad and sturdy he was and caught the warm coconut smell of his skin. “That must have been hard—leaving friends and school and all….”
“You make new friends. I learned to pack light in life.”
She thought about how much junk he’d filled the cottage with and wondered what he meant.
“I think it was harder on my sister than me.”
“Is this her?” Ariel tapped the girl in the photo.
“Yep. That’s Penny.”
“She’s pretty. Your mother, too.”
“Penny’s a great kid. If I can keep my parents from squashing her spirit.”
“Really?”
“I think they’re afraid she’ll turn out like me.”
“And that’s bad?”
“To my folks, yeah. My dad lives to lay down the law. I did okay in school, but not up to muster in his mind. And not only was I not interested in a Navy career, I made it a point to debate military spending at the dinner table.”
“Ouch,” she said.
“I figured I must have been adopted.” He grinned at her, but she saw regret in his eyes. And sadness.
“She looks happy here,” Ariel said, picking up another photo of Penny—this one a prom shot with a date.
“Yeah. But she works hard to keep the peace with the folks—and keep me from worrying about her.” He studied the photo.
It was sweet that Jake was so concerned about his sister. She noticed a more recent shot of Penny with Jake. His blue eyes gleamed with pleasure and his smile was so wide he had a dimple—as if his face couldn’t hold his happiness without crinkling.
“So now you know about my family,” Jake said, drawing her gaze away from the picture. He folded his arms and tilted his head in her direction. “Tell me about yours.”
“Not much to tell. My mother lives in Pasadena.”
“Brothers and sisters?”
“Nope. It’s always been just me and my mom. My dad died when I was three.”
“I’m sorry.” Jake stood uncomfortably close and studied her face.
She took a step back and bumped into the bureau. “It’s all right. I don’t remember him. Mom and I were a good team. Us against the world, you know?” She smiled.
“You two still close?”
“Not as much as I’d like. We’re both busy. We talk on the phone.” She felt a little guilty about that, but with the new business, she’d been obsessed. Troubled by the thought, she focused in on the task at hand. “I’d better let you get back to moving out,” she said. “How about if I empty the closet for you?”
“You always in a hurry?” he said.
“That’s how I get things done.”
“I get the feeling if I don’t look out, you’ll just mow me down.”
“Doesn’t seem likely.” She knew from crashing into him earlier that she’d just bounce off his powerful frame. The thought gave her a shiver. She tried not to picture herself falling into him anywhere near a bed.
Jake shook his head as though he thought she was crazy, but he did sweep up the shirts from the bed, gather an armful of shoes from the closet and carry the whole mess through the broken wall to the guest room.
Ariel began to hang her dresses, suits and coats in the partially emptied closet, using the metal hangers there. Tomorrow, she’d get her wooden hangers out of storage, along with everything she needed to make the place feel like home. She’d returned to her suitcase and gathered an armload of lingerie when Jake returned.
“What you got there?” he teased.
She clutched her undies to her chest, painfully aware of how many were granny panties.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” He opened a bureau drawer and lifted out an armload of socks and underwear—boxers, she noticed—in a riot of colors, many of them silk.
“That’s okay,” she said, holding her sensible unmentionables more tightly.
“There’s nothing wrong with white,” he said.
She blushed, then just shoved the clothes into the emptied drawer. She wasn’t about to organize them with Jake watching over her shoulder.
“White is a tease,” he continued. “Simple and innocent. Take the bra you’ve got on. It’s so thin a guy might think you’re not wearing anything at all…just speaking theoretically, of course.”
“Of course.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“You have no idea what it does to a man when he thinks a woman has nothing on underneath,” he said, watching her face.
She felt an unnerving tickle between her legs, so she turned to grab up more clothes—slips and scarves—from her bag.
She turned back just as he mused, “No snaps, no latches, no hooks…. Just one thin layer of fabric between us and glory.” He grabbed some T-shirts from a drawer, emptying it, then grinned at her, “And if there are no panties…well, that’s like winning a Powerball.”
“What makes you think I want to know this?” she said, shoving her clothes into the emptied space, unhappily close to Jake, who leaned against the bureau.
“Don’t women wonder what men think about?”
“We already know—sex…every fifteen seconds, right?” She closed the drawer with an authoritative hip check.
“Well, I don’t wear underwear.” He winked. “In case you’re curious.”
She couldn’t help glancing at the crotch of his swim trunks. When she dragged her gaze back up, he was waiting for her with a smirk. Gotcha.
“Women buy me these,” he said, lifting the load in his arms. “God knows why.”
Especially because he probably wasted no time getting out of them. He wandered away, Lucky lumbering after him. Ariel watched him go, unable to believe she was joking about underwear with a man she’d only known for four hours.
Her energy seemed to give Jake momentum, at least, and he picked up the pace. While she emptied her second suitcase, Jake dragged the weight bench out, along with some things piled in the corner—a basket with Frisbees and balls and a brightly colored fabric kite—whistling cheerfully the entire time.
Ariel was putting the photo of her and her mother on her nightstand when Jake stopped to look. “Your mom?” he said, picking up the pewter frame and examining its contents. Light flashed from the glass onto his face.
“Yeah. Christmas three years ago.” She and her mother stood with their arms around each other’s waist in front of the fake Christmas tree in her mother’s manufactured home. Myra, one of the diner waitresses, had taken the shot.
“You look like her,” Jake said, studying the picture. “Same jaw and mouth. Your eyes are the same green. Nice.”
“Thank you.” She looked down at the photo again, concentrating on her mother. “She looks tired, don’t you think? She worked double shifts to afford this Christmas.” That had to stop. Ariel couldn’t wait to make enough money to supplement what her mother made at the diner, so she could work part-time, maybe go to school, have some vacation, do something she really wanted besides work, work, work. The thought of that put the fire in Ariel’s belly again. She would make this business fly, or die trying.
“So, invite her out here for a weekend,” Jake said. “She can hit the beach and relax.”
Ariel laughed. “My mother at the beach? I can’t imagine.” It would be good for her to take a breather, though, and the two of them could do some real talking for a change. Maybe after she’d made some headway with her business and the cottage was finished, she’d invite her mother out to see the place.
Jake put the photo on the bureau, then surveyed the room. “Looks like you’re set.”
“For now. Tomorrow I’ll get my office equipment and personal stuff out of storage. Rent a truck, I guess.”
“You need a truck? I can borrow one easy, if you’d like.”
She looked at him. Borrowing a truck would be quicker and cheaper. Otherwise, she’d have to take buses to where her car was waiting in a friend’s garage, drive to the truck rental place, backtrack to return the truck. “I hate to put you out. You have all the work on the cottage to do.”
“I’ve got plenty of time for that.”
“Just a month.”
He just grinned, acknowledging her jab, but brushing it off. “Let me give you a hand.”
“Okay. I’d appreciate that. I’ll pay for gas, of course.”
“Come on. We’re roommates.”
For some reason, they both looked straight at the unmade bed, still dented from her nap. Ariel suddenly needed him out of the gold-lit room that was entirely too intimate for strangers—even strangers who’d examined each other’s underwear.
She looked toward what would be Jake’s room—for tonight at least—and saw the gaping hole. “Maybe we should put that sheet up now? Between the rooms? Maybe one of those canvas drop cloths would work.” Nice and thick and opaque.
“You sure? You won’t bother me. Unless you walk in your sleep? And that wouldn’t necessarily be a problem….” He was teasing her, but she felt that funny quiver all up and down her spine.
“I’m a very quiet sleeper,” she said primly. “But I’d like the canvas, please.”
“You’re the boss,” he said and headed away, grinning, Lucky at his heels.
Jake brought back the canvas and Ariel held it up while he nailed it in place. It was thick, but no sound barrier. She thought about telling Jake not to bring Heather home, but decided she’d probably ordered him around enough for the night, and vowed to be asleep before any hanky-panky got started.
A snuffling sound made her turn. There stood Lucky with his head squished into an odd shape, a silky trunk of panty hose hanging from his muzzle. Her last pair of fancy stockings!
“How did you get those?” she asked him, tugging the panty hose off his face and holding them up. “Ruined.”
Jake laughed. “That’s no way to get into a lady’s underwear, Lucky.”
“I spent a fortune on these.”
“You’ve got great legs, why cover them up?”
“It’s just the principle of the thing,” she said, though the compliment was not lost on her. Her fancy nylons were ruined, kind of like her life plan right now. The beach was out to get her one way or another. She balled up the shredded delicate and shot Lucky a fierce look.
Who, me? Lucky’s expression seemed to say. Just like Jake.
“Come on, Lucky,” Jake said. “I think we just wore out our welcome.” He held open the drop-cloth curtain between the bedrooms until Lucky passed over. He hesitated before following. “Holler if you need any more help,” he said.
Help? God save her from any more of his help tonight. “I’ll be fine, thanks,” she said, relieved when he let the cloth barrier fall between them.
4
WHILE ARIEL CAREFULLY FOLDED and organized the unmentionables Jake had repeatedly mentioned, she could hear him clunking around in his room. White is a tease, he’d said. Simple and innocent. Her cheeks heated. Please. He was just one line after the next.
When she’d finished putting all her things away, she surveyed the room. It needed her pictures on the wall and her rocking chair and her linens, all of which were in storage. But with Jake’s truck, she’d be able to pick up everything. That was one thing off her to-do list.
Now to call her mother. She’d alerted her from London that she’d be returning. She tapped in the number, determined to put things in the best possible light so her mother wouldn’t worry.
“I’m baaack,” she said when her mom picked up.
“I’m so sorry, sweetie. You had your heart set on London.”
“But this is a challenge, too,” she said. “Building my own business will be fun.” Her stomach twisted with tension.
“How’s the beach house?”
“Very…beachy. Trudy was having it fixed up. So I’m, um, dealing with that.”
“When you set your mind to something, you make it happen. You’re like me that way.”
“I hope I’m like you.”
“Of course you are. Your father was so distractible. Always ready to change directions. You have a good head on your shoulders.”
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Dawn Atkins
Roommates are off-limits… aren't they?Ariel Adams hates everything about the beach. So when circumstances force her to move into a small beach house, she's convinced life can't get worse. It can. The house isn't empty. Inside, sports gear, dirty towels, a giant dog…and Jake Renner– the sexy handyman fixing up the cottage– fill the rooms to overflowing. So much for privacy! How is she supposed to share the cramped space with too-tempting Jake…and only a sheet dividing their bedrooms?Used to leading the life of a carefree bachelor, Jake knows Ariel thinks he's just another beach bum. To complicate matters, the more time he spends with Ariel, the more Jake finds himself unable to resist her. After a few wild encounters with her, Jake is hooked…and ready to prove to Ariel that they make better roommates when they're sharing the same bed!
Jake wasn’t just a beach bum who lived only to play…
“Taste this, Ariel,” Jake said, holding out a spoon dripping with chocolate, unaware of the swell of hope inside her. He was just going to feed her again, as he’d been doing since the day she arrived, a perfectly innocent gesture.
But this time it would mean more. Ariel gripped his wrist, pulled the spoon to her lips and slowly licked it, holding his gaze, her heart pounding, her pulse racing. What am I doing?
Jake’s eyes flared.
“Mmm,” she said, telling him she wanted more…much, much more. So much more that it would mean tearing down the sheet that acted as a wall between their beds.
“Ariel,” he whispered, then leaned in to kiss her. In the background she heard the phone ring, but this was one time she wasn’t going to answer.
Dear Reader,
This is a story about how love smoothes people’s rough edges, just as the waves polish stones on the beach. And Ariel Adams clearly needs some smoothing—even her name sounds sharp. And Jake Renner, for all his laid-back-beach-bum facade, needs Ariel to show him he’s outgrown looking ahead only as far as the next wave.
I share Ariel’s tendency to be ruled by plans and arrangements. I share her trouble with balancing work and fun, being able to say yes to something spontaneous. Writing about Ariel’s endless lists gave me a good laugh at myself.
And of course I adore Jake—he reminds me of my own husband, who loves water sports, too, and has a keen sense of fun. I love the way Jake nurtures Ariel with food and gives her permission to relax and enjoy life.
I hope you love Ariel and Jake as much as I do.
Best,
Dawn Atkins
P.S. I’d love to hear what you think of this book. Please write me at dawnatkins@cox.net. You can learn about my upcoming books at my Web site, www.dawnatkins.com.
Books by Dawn Atkins
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
871—THE COWBOY FLING
895—LIPSTICK ON HIS COLLAR
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
93—FRIENDLY PERSUASION
HARLEQUIN DUETS
77—ANCHOR THAT MAN!
91—WEDDING FOR ONE
TATTOO FOR TWO
Room…But Not Bored!
Dawn Atkins
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To David, for making love so easy
Contents
Chapter 1 (#u50d3a22a-684b-52e7-a608-ad962d5ac549)
Chapter 2 (#u0b5fc3b0-c09c-54af-8d20-582293405ad0)
Chapter 3 (#u700bdf75-2ee5-505a-97c1-fd28ca200eb3)
Chapter 4 (#ucd8a3500-f7fe-5479-8283-33485f98aae8)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
1
IN HEELS AND A BUSINESS SUIT, with two monstrous suitcases in her sweaty grip and her computer bag slung over her shoulder, Ariel Adams stood on the stone stairs that led down to the beach cottage she’d just acquired. She blinked against the silver flash of California sun on gentle waves and wondered what she’d done to deserve this hell.
Okay, so most people would consider the rippling ocean and white-sand beach where a man juggled driftwood for a rapt retriever and seagulls dipped and cried, to be picturesque and enticing—perfect for sunset strolls, refreshing swims and building sand castles. But Ariel Adams was not most people.
To her, the beach was too…beachy. A giant cat box with a shifty surface tough to walk on and a fishy smell. The beach meant grit and mildew and sea salt that scoured, stained and bleached everything.
No, Ariel did not like the beach. And now she had to live there. Her left eyelid twitched from exhaustion. Terminally jet-lagged after the flight from London, all she wanted was to sleep for a week. But she couldn’t afford that luxury. She had to figure out how to start her solo consulting business two years earlier than she’d planned. She sagged against the rusted guardrail, demoralized, until she repeated her mother’s motto in her head: Keep on keeping on.
Job one of keeping on was to cross this beach without ruining the high-dollar silk panty hose she’d bought in honor of her new life in London—the life her partner Trudy had thrown out the window. The twenty-seventh-floor office window of their client Paul Foster to be precise. That high up, the windows didn’t even open.
Paul and I are in love, Trudy had breathed, airy as a romance heroine, as if that were enough to explain how a perfectly sensible woman—Ariel’s mentor in this very male business—had turned into a doe-eyed fool.
Ariel had reasoned with her. Give it six months. Be certain your feelings will last. But no. Two days of harangues hadn’t cleared one iota of the sentimental glaze from Trudy’s face. Paul was taking a world tour of his holdings before he retired and Trudy was going with him. When love comes, you accept it, wherever it may lead, Trudy had said in that feminine trill she’d adopted. Had her hormones gone wonky? Had she been hypnotized? Slipped a cog? What?
This was not the plan. And planning was king at Business Advantage, Trudy’s company, into which she’d invited Ariel six months ago. They’d met when Trudy had been hired to assist with a business consolidation and Ariel had been working in-house for one of the merging companies. Trudy had been so impressed by Ariel’s talent that when Paul Foster retained Business Advantage to go to London to help the Foster Corporation make a strategic shift, Trudy had asked Ariel to become her partner in the firm—to help with the project and beyond.
That had suited Ariel just fine. Her plan had been to work with Trudy for two years—or until she felt ready to be on her own. But that plan was all gone. Trashed by Trudy. For love.
Foster had gone weird, too. Falling in love had made him decide to sell the company and live life to the fullest. Double blech. In his defense, he’d also had a cancer scare—a misdiagnosis, as it turned out—that had made him reassess his values. Ariel was all for businessmen reassessing their values—but to advance their businesses, not abandon them.
She’d so looked forward to the London experience. It was the opportunity of a lifetime to be instrumental in a highly visible corporate evolution, and meant a huge leg up for her business reputation. It would give her cachet, to be elegant about it. Not to mention international contacts. And London itself had been amazing.
But now, only three weeks into the adventure, she’d had to catch a flight back to L.A. to start her business with just a name, Trudy’s file of stale leads and her own bravado.
Before Ariel left, Trudy had given her what was left of Business Advantage, which wasn’t much, since Trudy and she had finished with their U.S. clients before the London move.
And now Ariel was on her own. With a sigh, she descended the sand-scrubbed steps to the beach house in Playa Linda, where she would live until she was financially able to move somewhere more appropriate.
Trudy had felt so guilty about abandoning Ariel, she’d practically given her the cottage, asking a ridiculous price, payable over time, that Ariel couldn’t afford to pass up. Even though living there would be like camping, the property was a prize piece of real estate. Lots of people thought beach living was nirvana.
And at least she had a home. Before the move, she’d given up her tidy apartment, contoured precisely to her habits, and put her belongings in storage along with their office equipment.
Five steps down, Ariel’s heel skidded on grit and she tilted to the side, banging her elbow on the rail.
A guy with a surfboard caught her arm from behind. “You okay, ma’am?”
Ma’am? She was only twenty-nine, darn it, no ma’am. She could be this guy’s date, not his mother. It was how she was dressed, she was certain. Her dark tailored suit, high-necked blouse and efficiently bunned hair made her seem as out-of-place as a Victorian matron in a strip club. “I’m fine,” she snapped, and the guy trotted on without a backward glance.
Ariel finished the steps and started across the sand, stepping carefully so as not to grind sand into her delicate stockings. The cottage was nestled into a low hill, with a basement garage accessible from the narrow street. If Ariel’d had the garage door opener, she could have entered that way and avoided the beach altogether, but some things couldn’t be helped.
With each wobbly step, her sleep-deprived mind churned out more bad thoughts. What if she didn’t get clients right away? She was good, she knew. She’d saved an entire division during the consolidation she and Trudy had worked on together, and the clients she’d handled for the six months she’d been part of Business Advantage had been very happy. The baby clothes boutique had doubled its profits, thanks to her, and her diversification plan had saved a computer parts manufacturer from a painful downsizing.
Handling the clients was no problem. What stopped her heart was the idea of selling herself to them in the first place. That had been Trudy’s specialty. Trudy knew promotion. She knew how to coax and cajole. In that regard, Ariel was lost at sea. A critical liability when starting a business from scratch. What if she starved? No way. She was a survivor and a worker, just like her mother. Ariel’s father had died when she was just three, but her mother hadn’t moped a minute. She’d gotten two jobs—at a laundry and a diner—and always made ends meet.
It sounded grim, but her mother was never discouraged. Adams women kept on keeping on. Ariel had spent many happy hours playing dolls under the diner tables. The waitresses talked to her in their rough, practical way—barking at her to get out from underfoot during the busy times, joining her to act out a quick Barbie and Ken date during the lulls. And to this day, the smell of laundry soap cheered her.
She would survive, all right, Ariel thought, marching forward in the thick sand. If worse came to worst, she’d get a job at a temp service or take some contract work—rare, of course—with another business planner. This was just a setback. Sweat poured down her sides under her expensive suit. That meant a dry cleaning bill. She tried to think cool thoughts as she lunged forward, lugging the bags that wouldn’t roll on the soft sand. Almost there, almost there.
Then, she was there—Trudy’s beach getaway, now her very own. Small, faded and shabby, it looked as if a good wind could topple it. She’d remembered it as more attractive that one weekend she’d spent with Trudy here laying out the plans for their partnership. Her spirits flagged for a second.
Quaint and cozy…with rustic charm. That’s how she would describe it in the real estate ad she intended to place as soon as she was flush enough to move out. You’ll look back on this and laugh, she told herself, closing her eyes for a quick visualization….
She and her husband walking among the roses in front of their ranch-style home in Thousand Oaks. His warm voice in her ear: Remember when you were a desperate newbie in a ramshackle hut cold-calling clients to afford food?
She would tip her face up to his—of course he’d be much taller—gaze into his dark eyes and give a tinkling laugh. Maybe not tinkling. Trudy’s laugh had tinkled. A gentle laugh then.
Look at you now, her dear husband would continue. You’ve hired an associate so you have more time to spend with me, your adoring husband. Shall we swim?
Then they would walk arm-in-arm to their Olympicsized pool with the dramatic black surface and bricked rim and swim slow laps, looking into each other’s eyes. Oh, and their golden retriever would run along the pool’s edge as they swam….
Much better. Ariel sighed and opened her eyes, rejuvenated by her vision of the glorious future she’d push herself to, no matter what. Now to get started. Except she hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours and she was so tired….
Keep moving, she told herself fiercely. You snooze, you lose. She marched up the stairs to the porch, her fingers burning from holding the suitcases, which clunked up each step. Sweaty and breathing heavily, she extracted Trudy’s key from her purse and put it in the lock, only to have the door yanked away from her from the inside. She stumbled two steps forward and into a man, connecting with his warm, solid, naked chest.
He gripped her arms, steadying her, holding on a few seconds longer than necessary while he studied her. His fingers were strong and reassuring, his eyes a Brad Pitt smoky blue.
“Well, hel-lo,” he said, propping her back onto her heels.
Unbalanced by the surprise—and the man—she’d only managed, “Hello,” before a black-and-white bear of a dog rushed past them from inside the cottage. On its heels was a young boy wearing a green baseball cap, who paused to slap the man on his muscular shoulder and yell, “You’re it!” before racing down the stairs and across the beach after the dog.
“Time out!” the man shouted to him, then lowered his gaze to Ariel’s. “Sorry. Jake Renner.” He lifted her limp hand and helped her shake his, his eyes full of laughter at her shock.
“Ariel Adams,” she said faintly.
“Can I help you?” He was a little taller than she was and blond, with a deep tan on a muscular body that was pretty much on full display except for baggy Hawaiian-print swim trunks. He was way too relaxed for someone who’d been caught squatting in Trudy’s empty beach house.
“Is this Trudy Walters’s place?” Maybe she’d arrived at the wrong ramshackle cottage. She could only hope.
Something trilled sharply. For a second, in her exhaustion, she feared it was her brain warning it was about to blow. But it was just her cell phone, good for only two more days before service expired.
Jake Renner leaned against the doorjamb and watched her fumble for her phone.
“What?” she said irritably into it before she’d actually activated it. Pushing the button, she said, “Hello?”
“Ariel?” The faint voice belonged to her love-crazed ex-partner.
“Thank God, Trudy. I’m at the beach house, and, you won’t believe this, but—”
“There’s a man there. I know,” Trudy said. “I didn’t get the chance to tell you. I hired him before we left for London to paint and do some fix-up so I could sell the cottage.”
Ariel glanced at Jake—his hair was beautifully sun-streaked—then turned to the side to make the conversation more private. “I wish you’d said something.”
“I’m saying it now. And there’s one more thing….” Uh-oh. “He might be living there. As part of the deal, I told him he could stay until he finishes.”
“You told him he could live here?” Her voice squeaked. She shot Jake a wan smile.
“It’s good to have someone keep an eye on things. This was killing two birds with one stone.”
“You should have warned me.”
“I was a little distracted, I guess. And you took off so fast…. Jake’s a nice guy—completely trustworthy. He’s done work for my neighbor, watched her kids while she did errands. Very sweet. I talked to him several times.”
“But he’s going to live here?” Ariel whispered through gritted teeth. “With me?” Again, she tried to smile at Jake.
“There are two bedrooms, Ariel. And he’s not going to attack you or anything…unless you want that.” Then her voice went low. “If I’d had the time, let me tell you…wowsa.”
Wowsa? So un-Trudy-like. “Why are you telling me this?” she said, exasperated, hoping the cell phone hadn’t leaked Trudy’s words to her eavesdropper.
“Love is all around, Ariel. Stop and smell the roses.”
Smell the roses? All Ariel could smell were dead fish and seaweed…and maybe a faint coconut scent coming off Jake Renner’s gleaming body. “I’ll get back to you on that,” she said, her saccharine smile going sour. Her partner—who had yanked herself up by the straps of her own Aerosoles and, by the way, had once declared relationships speed bumps on the road to success—was now spouting Zen bumper stickers from her outpost in the Twilight Zone.
“I mean it,” Trudy insisted. “Rethink your life. I’ve started doing watercolors again.”
Ariel held her tongue.
“I’m sure you can work something out with Jake. He’s very easygoing.”
Ariel shot a glance at him. Easygoing and hard-bodied. He exuded that lazily confident air that most women went for. She got a little internal zing herself. Biology was undeniable, she guessed, no matter how inconvenient.
“Look at it this way,” Trudy continued. “If you don’t like the paint colors or tile I chose, you can change them—on my dime. If you want, add a few things while he’s available.”
“I can’t afford anything more. I don’t want anything more. I…oh, hell, this is just too much to think about.”
“You’ll do great, Ariel. Soliciting clients is not that hard. Your work speaks for itself.”
Not if she couldn’t speak for her work.
“Start with my leads, use my software and call me if you need a consult. If I’m anywhere I can be reached by phone, of course.” She gave that laugh again. More a trill than a tinkle, now that Ariel thought about it. “Seriously. You have everything you need to be successful.”
Everything except clients. “I appreciate your faith in me,” Ariel said. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Bye-ee.”
Bye-ee? What had the twit on the other end of the line done with levelheaded Trudy? Was she wrapped in duct tape in a trunk somewhere? Ariel clicked off, thrust the phone back in her purse, and looked up at the nearly naked man wearing a bemused expression.
“So I guess you’re the house painter,” she said, trying to smile.
He bowed. “And the framer and the carpenter and the plasterer and, possibly, the electrician, judging from the shorts we’re getting in the bathroom.”
“Shorts in the bathroom?” she repeated weakly. Her already fuzzy brain throbbed with this new quandary. She didn’t deal well with change. Someone had definitely moved her cheese. “I need to sit down,” she said, bending to grab her suitcase handles, intending to head inside.
Jake took the bags from her, hefting them as though they weighed nothing, and held the door. She moved inside, sand grinding in her shoes, anxiety burning in her stomach. She caught more of Jake’s scent as she passed—warm sunshine, sweet musk and coconut—pleasant in a beachy kind of way.
She looked around the tiny living room and her heart sank. There wasn’t even a place to sit. Drop cloths covered what few pieces of furniture fit in the small space. Pieces of Sheetrock were propped against a canvas-covered lump—the sofa. Boards lay on the floor along with boxes of nails, tools, masking tape and a few cans of paint. More drop cloths covered two side chairs and the cocktail table.
There were two fancy bicycles leaning on one wall—one disassembled—and a colorful, battered surfboard braced against the half wall that led to the kitchen.
Jake set down her bags, shoved some of the sofa’s canvas away, and motioned gallantly for her to sit in the space he’d cleared. She dropped there with an unladylike plunk.
“Better?” he said.
“A little.”
Jake lowered himself onto a drop-cloth–covered chair very close to her, the muscles of his legs and chest rolling with his movement. How she managed to fixate on his body at a time like this was beyond her. It must be raw exhaustion. Like a hypnosis subject transfixed by a shiny object, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. You’re getting sleepier and sleepier…warmer and warmer…more and more aroused…
“Things are a little confusing,” she said, trying to clear her head. “Trudy sold me this house while we were in London and now…”
“And now I’m fixing it up for you. No problemo.” He had the bluest eyes and an expressive mouth—very broad, like it spent most of its time smiling.
“Yes, problemo,” she corrected. “I have to live here, you see. And work here. And—”
“Not to worry. I’m a great roommate.”
“I’m sure you are, but, I don’t really want a roommate.” Or a construction site. Jake obviously wasn’t one of those craftsmen who prided themselves on working neatly. Supplies were scattered from one end of the room to the other. God knows what the rest of the house looked like.
“I don’t either, but I’m flexible.” He shrugged. “You can have the master bedroom, since it’s your house.”
She stared at him. “As I just said, I would prefer the place to myself.”
He looked at her, blinked, smiled.
“I’m a business consultant,” she explained. It was difficult work that requires concentration, quiet and order and—at the minimum—a room for an office. She surveyed the living room and it looked the way her life felt—confused and chaotic. Despair welled up. She rested her elbows on her knees and held her head in her hands.
“You’re freaked right now,” Jake said softly. “Give it a few days and see how it works out.”
She lifted her head and stared at him.
He grinned. “What, you want to kick me out today? Make me sleep on the beach?”
“I’m sure you have family or friends you can stay with.”
He just looked at her with those smoky blue eyes. She knew silence was a negotiating tool meant to put the opponent on the defensive, get him to blurt a concession, and she felt herself succumbing, maybe because Jake was disconcertingly handsome and so…naked. And his eyes seemed to see more than she intended to reveal. “You just get into town?” he asked gently.
“Yes. I just flew in from London.”
“And, boy, are your arms tired.”
“Funny.” Not.
“Just kidding. You look beat. Why don’t you get out of that monkey suit and get some rest? When you’re feeling better we can talk this all out, calm and easy.”
She stifled the urge to point out that they had talked it out. She would stay; he would go. She’d give him a bit to realize she was serious. She didn’t want to come across too harshly. It wasn’t his fault Trudy had double-booked them.
“Come on and I’ll show you your bedroom.” He took her by the elbow and helped her to her feet. She usually disliked men she’d barely met presuming to touch her, even casually, but this felt okay—friendly and helpful, not pushy—and he let go of her as soon as she was upright.
She walked beside him to the short, narrow hall that led to two bedrooms and a bath, her elbow still warm from his fingers.
“I’ll move into this room,” Jake said, indicating the guest room. What had been a tidy room, accented by lacy pillows and silk flowers when she’d stayed with Trudy, was packed with equipment—oxygen tanks and rubber scuba suits, big duffels, some with fins sticking out, a pole with rope hanging off it, possibly the boom of a sailboat, two more surfboards, one of which had a sail, and a stationary bike.
How could anybody even find the bed, let alone sleep in it?
Even worse, the room was missing most of one wall. Through the ragged edge of Sheetrock she could see straight into the second bedroom and the rumpled bed where Jake must sleep.
“There’s no wall!” she exclaimed, turning to him.
“Wood rot from a ceiling leak, so I had to knock it out.”
“How can we…you…? I mean…we can’t sleep like this!” They might as well be in the same room.
“I don’t snore, I swear,” he said, then read her face. “We’ll put a sheet up if you want. And, relax, I won’t bother you—no sleepwalking or…whatever.”
She knew what he meant by whatever and was a tad miffed he’d said it so fast. She was reasonably attractive, but he’d written her off like the dude with the surfboard who’d called her ma’am. She put her hair in a bun because it was efficient and it revealed her neck—one of her better features. “The sheet will do for tonight,” she said firmly, ignoring the wound to her femininity. “And you can make other living arrangements tomorrow.”
“Check out your room,” he said, ducking below the top edge of the torn wall and stepping over the baseboard. He offered his hand. She ignored it—she could climb into a room on her own, thank you—and joined him. The master bedroom was only a couple feet larger than the guest room, and held more Jake debris—personal items in cheerful disarray—swim trunks on the floor, T-shirts in a corner, a guitar and a weight bench. He’d really made himself at home in the three weeks he’d been here.
Jake reached past her to pick a pillow off the floor, which he tossed onto the rumpled bed. “Sheets are pretty fresh—washed yesterday—but I’ll change them if you want.”
“I’m sure they’re fine,” she said.
“It’s a great mattress. Try it out.” He motioned at it.
She flashed on the activities that would call for him to put the mattress through its paces and tensed. “I’ll take your word for it.” No way was she lying on a bed looking up at a mostly naked Jake.
He bent beside her and grabbed a T-shirt and some shorts, his thigh muscles flexing, his trunks tight over his butt. Wow. Jake might act lazy, but there was nothing lazy about his body. Not an ounce of fat hid the muscles of his legs, arms and back, and his abdomen was corrugated, thanks, no doubt, to the weight bench. The fleeting image of Jake pumping iron turned Ariel’s insides to jelly.
Jake stood. She dragged her eyes away, but too late. He caught her staring and grinned. “I’ll clear out my gear later so you can catch some zs. Take your clothes off, though. You’ll sleep better.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said.
He seemed to be disrobing her all on his own, so she crossed her arms over her chest.
He smiled. You got me, his eyes cheerfully conceded.
That friendly X-ray stare made up for Jake’s earlier dismissal. Superficial of her maybe, but as a woman she felt better.
“How about I make you a protein and banana smoothie?” he said. “You need potassium. Flying zaps your salts.”
“Thanks, anyway. I’m really fine. Sleep will help.”
“When you get up then.” Jake left the room, taking up the entire doorway as he went. She realized he’d shrugged off the eviction like she hadn’t said a thing. She’d rectify that later—be polite, but firm. Exhaustion and the undercurrent of attraction had weakened her usual resolve. She’d take a power nap and bounce back.
Making sure the bedroom door was locked, she took off her jacket, blouse and skirt—the monkey suit Jake had called it—and slipped her bra off under her slip, which she’d sleep in.
Removing her shoes, she carefully peeled down her silk stockings, pleased the sand hadn’t damaged them. She folded them and placed them on the bureau. Then she collapsed onto the bed and shut her eyes. It felt so good to lie down. Everything would seem better after a nap.
Jake’s coconut smell rose to her nose from the pillow—pleasant, if too intimate. It was thoughtful of Jake to suggest sleep.
She was just drifting off when she heard a series of bangs, clunks and rattles from the kitchen, which was so close in the tiny house it might as well have been in her room. Then came the horrific roar of a blender. Jake making a smoothie, no doubt.
After that, someone pounded on the front door. She heard a kid’s eager voice, a dog’s bark and the scrabble of nails on the wooden floor. God. Her new home was close quarters for two people, especially when one of them was as noisy, popular and, she was forced to admit, attractive as Jake Renner. So much for peace. So much for sleep.
Jake better find a place to stay right away, or she’d find him one herself.
2
JAKE GAVE RICKIE a couple of boards and some paint and promised to help him with the tree house tomorrow. Rickie had haunted the beach house from the moment Jake arrived three weeks ago. He was lonely and his parents were divorcing, so Jake had played catch with him a couple times, then introduced himself to Rickie’s mother, so she’d know he was okay. Then he’d met the sitter—a definite dating prospect, which enhanced things considerably.
He couldn’t break away now, though. He had the bike to fix for Barry and he wanted to be around when his new roommate got up. He turned his CD player down a little, in deference to the sleeping woman, though he thought he’d heard her moving around.
Jumpy. The way she’d barreled into him at the door showed she was wired for action. If she hadn’t been so tired, she’d have had him packed and out on his ass right now. Despite her jet-lagged befuddlement, her knotted hair, business suit and erect posture spoke volumes about her personality. Gung-ho, no nonsense, maximally serious.
He wasn’t moving out, he already knew that. He’d given up his closet of a basement apartment and he liked having room for all his equipment in one place and living where he was working. Besides, he couldn’t afford rent if he wanted the scratch he needed to fund his sister Penny’s trip.
He’d have to get Ariel comfortable living with him—make her life as smooth as the gearing on Barry’s Guerciotti, which he was working on right now—so she’d forget all about him leaving.
He adjusted the triple-gear unit, then spun the pedals. Much better. He liked getting his hands on equipment. That was one thing he’d learned from his father, Admiral Shipshape—how to handle machinery. It made up a little for the commands and the regulations and the misery when he was growing up.
His father better not be as hard on Penny as he’d been on him. Penny claimed not, but she was too sweet to fight back.
That made Jake remember that she was planning to check out the beach house this weekend. Not a good idea with his landlord on-site. Having a teen guest—even one as smart and sweet as Pen—would definitely annoy Ariel Adams. He put down the bike and grabbed the phone to postpone the visit a couple weeks.
“Renner residence, Jake here.” His father. Damn. He hated talking to the man, hated that air of disappointment—thick as the slabs of beef his dad loved to grill in the back yard—that permeated every conversation.
“Hello, sir.”
“Jake Junior, how are you?”
“Fine, sir. Penny there?”
“Yes, she is.” Pause. Stern silence. “You haven’t been to the house in two months.”
“I’ve been busy. Charters and a house-painting job…” He let his words trail off.
“You owe it to your mother to present yourself from time to time.”
For inspection. Shoes shined, tie straight. His dad was Navy to his bones. “I’ll come out in a week or two.”
“Saturday, the fifteenth? I’ll let her know.”
“That depends….” But the last thing he needed was another argument with his dad. “All right. The fifteenth.”
The admiral was silent on the other end. He had something else on his mind or he would have gone for Penny. These conversations were as awkward for him as they were for Jake. “Made any progress, son?” he finally said. That was Admiral Renner code for settling down—having a real job, a wife, becoming a man with responsibilities, debts, burdens.
“Every day is progress, sir,” he said with a sigh. He’d be damned if he’d do anything in life the way his dad had done it.
Silence. Then his father said tightly, “I’ll get your sister.”
Why did Jake’s heart thud after these exchanges? He was almost thirty years old. It was the shame in his father’s voice. His only son was a footloose bum he couldn’t brag about with the other officers, whose kids were in the Academy or the diplomatic corps or were lawyers or computer whizzes. He felt the shame heat his face. Ridiculous. What did he care what his narrow-minded father thought? Unlike his father, Jake enjoyed life. Enjoyment was not a duty, so Admiral Renner didn’t make room for it.
And as far as being footloose, that was something he’d learned as a kid, thanks to his father’s transfers from naval base to naval base—Virginia to Florida to California. Jake had learned how to let go when he needed to. Now, when things got weird or dull or troublesome, it was easy to just leave.
As a kid, it had hurt, being forced away from things he loved—the swim team, girlfriends, great buds, even teachers who’d inspired him. But he got used to it and it taught him to be flexible, open to new things that were just as worthwhile.
Moving around had been tough, but that was only the launching pad for his struggles with his by-the-book father. Jake had never met a rule he liked, and he made sure his father knew it.
“Hey, Jake,” Penny chirped.
“Hey there, Squirrel, how are you?”
“Good. I got second place in the swim meet.”
“Terrific. Did the Admiral stop picking on you about your grades?” It wasn’t until he’d left home that Jake realized that Penny might be paying the price for his rebellion. His parents were overprotective and kept her close to home, under watch.
“He wasn’t picking on me. He was concerned about me, that’s all. Parents do that. It’s a duty.”
“There’s more to school than grades, Pen. Don’t let him browbeat you.”
“Chill, would you? I want good grades, too. For college.”
“There’s plenty of time for college. You have to live life.” As soon as she graduated high school, he was making sure she got to spend a year in Europe. That was what she wanted, though she’d stopped talking about it. He’d seen the flyer on her desk when he was home at Thanksgiving—Study Abroad. See Europe and earn college credit. He’d asked her about it and she’d sounded so jazzed until she read him the costs. Then her enthusiasm faded. Too much money. She didn’t have to say it.
That was when he decided he would make it happen. He’d pay her way, arrange everything, including running interference with the old man. Jake would not let Penny suffer for his sins. As soon as she had her high school diploma, he’d break her out of the brig his parents kept her in.
“So, I can’t wait for this weekend,” Penny said. “You can teach us to surf—I’m bringing Sheila. She wants to sailboard.”
“Um, that’s kind of why I called,” he said, hating to disappoint her. She asked for so little from him—or anyone. “We’ll have to postpone the trip for a couple weeks.”
“Postpone it? Why?”
“The living situation has changed. It turns out the owner sold the cottage and now I’ve got a landlord living here.”
“So, we’ll bring sleeping bags and crash on the floor.”
“Not yet. She’s a little touchy right now.”
“She? Your landlord’s a woman?”
“Yeah.”
“She single?”
“Why does that matter?”
“So turn on the Jake charm already.”
“I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t kick me out on my ass.”
“Does she have eyes? Ears? A libido?”
“Libido? That is not a word you should even understand, let alone use.”
“I’m sixteen, Jake. I’m a woman. With womanly needs.”
“That’s enough of that.” The whole idea creeped him out. “You take it slow. You have your whole life to get involved in…that stuff….” He felt himself flush. Penny needed a solid guy who would look out for her, worship the ground she walked on, and only when she was mature enough to get serious.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she said. “You sure I can’t come?”
“Sorry.”
“I guess Mom and I will rent movies or something.”
“Go out with friends. Don’t let them trap you at home.”
“They don’t lock me in a tower. If you’re so worried about me, talk your landlord into letting me stay. What’s her name?”
“Ariel.”
“That’s pretty. Is she? Pretty, I mean.”
“She’s all right.” Compactly built, with everything in the right place from what he could see through the business suit. For a moment, he thought of sleeping with her. Bad idea if he wanted to live here through the summer and maybe beyond.
Sleeping with a roommate was a mistake he’d learned from Charlotte. She’d agreed they’d keep it light, just enjoy each other, but then she wanted to know where he was every minute, pouted if he wasn’t home for dinner, acted like a wife, for God’s sake. Then he’d hurt her feelings. He’d hated that. Why did women think they could change him? Why did they even want to? He was who he was and that ought to be enough.
“So, why not…see what happens?” Penny said.
“We are not having this conversation, Pen.”
“Okay. I just wish you’d find someone special so you’d stop hassling me.”
“I’m just looking out for you.”
“Then get me invited to the beach house.”
“I will. As soon as I’m sure I’m staying.”
“If she’s a woman, you’ll be staying.”
He wasn’t sure how to take that and did not like his sister even hinting about his love life. “Do something fun this weekend,” he commanded, then hung up, his roommate jumping into his mind. She’d be hot in bed, he’d bet—active, motivated, goal-oriented. Useful traits in the sack. Hmm.
Nope. He needed Ariel as a roommate, not a playmate.
A PUFF OF DAMP AIR blew Ariel awake. Had she left the window of her London flat open to the drizzle? She opened her eyes just as a wet, black blob snorted at her. Focusing one eye, she made out an animal muzzle and realized it was attached to the dog that had burst out of the house when she’d first arrived. Pleased that he’d awakened her, the dog pranced a couple of steps, then shook itself mightily, spraying water and sand everywhere.
The reality of Ariel’s situation came back to her like a belly flop in the pool of her stomach. Gone was the charming London flat she’d shared with Trudy, replaced by a cramped beach house jammed with water sports junk and construction debris. She picked up the sound of rock-and-roll playing in the front of the house and a woman’s teasing laugh, followed by Jake’s voice.
The dog, poised near her face, gave a desperate whine—get up and play. When Ariel didn’t move, he loped to the more interesting side of the house.
She felt gritty all over—her skin, her hair, her eyes. It wasn’t her exhausted imagination, she learned when she found sand on the sheets and pressed into the undersides of her arms.
The fading light told her it was dusk. Woozy and not a bit rested, she looked at her travel alarm, which she’d taken from her bag when Jake’s banging around the cottage woke her for the third time, and saw that she’d only napped for an hour.
She looked at the giant hole in the wall between her room and where Jake would sleep. Judging from the lush sound of that woman’s voice, Jake might have company tonight. She’d like to tell him no—the last thing she wanted to hear were erotic moans and headboard banging—but she wasn’t sure she wanted to bring up sex with him in any regard. She’d only have to put up with his nocturnal guests for one night, maybe two, until Jake moved out.
Ariel brushed off the grit, climbed out of bed and went to the bureau mirror to see if she looked as bad as she felt. Oh, yeah. Her hair had come loose from her bun, her mascara formed exhausted semicircles under her eyes and she had the indents of sand pebbles all along her left cheek.
She felt something soft under her feet and found her silk stockings in a tangled wad. Clusters of holes and long runs decorated the delicate silk. She’d protected them from sand damage only to have that monstrous dog nose them off her bureau and ruin them. She didn’t even have the energy to work up a fit of temper at the dog. At least she had a second pair in her suitcase.
“Jake, don’t,” the woman called in a tone that meant don’t stop. Feminine wiles and coy flirtation. Blech. Ariel didn’t play games. If she wanted to sleep with a man, which she did from time to time, she showed him with a deep kiss, or responded favorably to his caress. Or she just plain suggested it. Why get silly about something so basic and human?
Of course, lately, with Business Advantage consuming her attention, there hadn’t been much time for sex. Which was probably why she kept getting snagged by the sight of Jake’s body. Once her career was in order, she would open herself to a relationship. The timing would be perfect.
Now, she’d unpack, then write up business and personal to-do lists. Lists would put a fence around her whirlwind of worries. She had to make progress before she went to bed for the night or she’d never fall asleep.
She glanced around the jam-packed room. She’d have to pry Jake away from the Playmate of the Day and get him to clear out his junk before she could even unpack. Then she’d pin him down on the time frame on the cottage renovation.
That meant looking decent enough to appear in the living room. Ariel ran a brush through her hair, changed into a linen short set and slipped into the bathroom to repair her makeup. She wasn’t primping exactly. She just didn’t want to look as bedraggled as she felt. At the last minute, she dabbed perfume on her wrists and neck.
Peeking around the hall corner, she saw that Jake and his friend, who wore a bikini that consisted of three bandage-sized triangles held together by dental floss, were dancing swing style to some nouveau jitterbug. The dog jumped up now and then as if to cut in—to dance with Jake, not the woman, who laughed in that lush way that meant business, sexually.
Jake smiled, but there was distance in his expression. Don’t get too close. She wondered fleetingly what it would take to get past Jake Renner’s affable sexuality to what made him tick.
Not that that was any of her concern. The dancing made her smile, though, and set her thoughts wandering. She’d needed an aerobic exercise in college and selected ballroom dance since she’d be learning a skill and getting exercise at the same time. The grace and freedom of it had enchanted her. She’d met Grayson in that class and they’d begun their affair. She missed dancing. How long had it been since she’d moved to music, alone or with a partner? Once the business was stable she would have fun, too, she told herself. All in good time. And according to plan. Planning gave you freedom.
Jake caught sight of Ariel and stopped dancing. “Sleeping Beauty awakes,” he said. “Heather, meet my landlord, Ariel Adams. Ariel, this is Heather.”
“Hi,” Heather said. Her expression was direct—are you after him?
No, thanks, she tried to communicate with her eyes. “Nice to meet you, Heather.”
“You get some rest?” Jake asked her.
“Some.” Except for the blender and the visiting kid and the giggling girl and the music and the snorting dog. But there was no point getting technical. “Sorry to interrupt,” she continued, “but I was hoping you would clear your things out of my room…?”
“I guess I should go,” Heather said to Jake. “See you later tonight?” she asked, establishing ownership, presumably for Ariel’s benefit. “For the volleyball game at Ollie’s?”
“If I’m up for it,” he said, his tone clearly saying Don’t push.
Poor Heather. She probably hadn’t figured out this guy was as elusive as he was handsome.
“We’ll have fun. I promise.”
“You don’t need me to have fun,” he said.
A tiny frown appeared between the woman’s sharply plucked brows, and she looked from Ariel to Jake, assessing the danger of them getting together. In the end, she sighed, picked up a sarong and a beach bag from a drop-cloth–draped chair, said, “Ciao,” and left. Jake watched her go, admiring her casually—like someone appreciating a work of art, knowing there was a museum’s worth beyond it.
The dog watched Heather leave, then honed in on Jake, ready for action. When Jake made no move to follow the girl, the dog plopped onto its substantial belly, spread-legged, scattering sand.
“Is this your dog?” Ariel asked, praying it wasn’t. The last thing she wanted was to be snuffled awake again by a sandy-pawed canine. Even one with eyes as big and brown as a bear’s.
“Lucky? Nah, his owners live down the beach, but he hangs with me a lot. We’re buds, aren’t we, Luck Man?”
The dog looked up at him with pure worship on his doggie mug. Sure are, boss.
“Time to head home, pal,” Jake said, “before your owners start worrying.” He held the door for Lucky, who seemed to droop, like a kid called home for supper, and slowly walked out the door, his back end swaying regretfully.
Ariel couldn’t help smiling at the sight.
Jake caught the look. “Great dog, huh?”
“He sheds a lot of sand.”
“Be glad he didn’t bring in another starfish. Hid one under the bed once. Talk about stink.”
Great.
“So, I bet you’re hungry,” Jake said.
“Starving,” she blurted. Her stomach rumbled in agreement. The last thing she’d had was a sad Salisbury steak on the plane.
“Good. I was just about to fix some huevos whateveros.”
“Huevos what?”
“Eggs with whatever I find in the refrigerator. Topped with salsa—I make my own.”
“I don’t want to put you out,” she said. She should get unpacked first, but eating would give her the boost she’d need to look over Trudy’s contact tracking software and gear up for making calls tomorrow.
“So I throw in a couple extra eggs. Easy.” He started for the kitchen. “We’re roommates, right?” he said over his shoulder.
Not for long, she wanted to say, but she’d give it a rest until they’d eaten. She could hardly expect Jake to drag that weight bench out of her room on an empty stomach.
She headed into the kitchen to help.
3
“WHAT CAN I DO?” Ariel said when she reached the kitchen.
“Just keep me company,” Jake said. He opened the refrigerator and reached inside, demonstrating what a marvel of biological engineering his body was. Smoothly swelling muscles fanned out, tightened and released in delightful synchronicity as he shifted things around. And his skin was a golden brown….
Stop. What was she doing? Her travel-fogged brain kept honing in on Jake’s anatomy. She should be worrying about the “whatever was in the refrigerator.” If Jake was like most guys, it would be leftover Chinese, ketchup and maybe wilted lettuce.
She was relieved when he stood with an armload of fresh items—an avocado, some mushrooms, Muenster cheese and a plastic-wrapped container of what looked like fresh spinach.
“Are you sure I can’t do anything?” she asked. To keep from ogling you?
“Not a thing,” he said. The way he snapped on the gas stove, deftly whacked off a hunk of butter and flipped it onto a serious omelet pan seemed to indicate he knew his way around a kitchen—or at least an egg dish.
The kitchen was small—no, cozy, she corrected, thinking like a real estate agent. The counter space was modest, but charming—tiny blue-and-white tiles with decent grout. The sink, however, was battered and rust-stained and the faucet appeared corroded. She’d have to replace it. Kitchens and bathrooms were big selling features, she knew, and a good place to spend renovation dollars. The stove was an older model, but clean and it seemed to work.
The wallpaper was outdated, but high shelves held decorative plates with ocean themes, attractive driftwood pieces, and several plants—curly bamboo and an orchid—that gave the room character and life.
“I can at least set the table,” she said, going to the cupboard beside him, where she assumed the plates were. She found flower vases, mixing bowls and sports bottles instead.
“Up there,” Jake raised his chin at the cupboard directly above him, his hands busy cutting mushrooms.
“Excuse me,” she said, reaching past him.
“Take your time,” he said, not moving an inch. She felt his eyes on her, sensed his lazy grin, and prickled from the abrupt intimacy of it all. Snatching two plates, even though they didn’t match, she decided to wait until Jake left the counter to get the water glasses from the higher shelf.
The silverware was in the first drawer she opened, thank goodness. Unwilling to hunt for napkins, probably in the drawer at Jake’s groin, she ripped two paper towels from the under-cupboard hanging roll, then moved to the table, which held more Jake accoutrements—a bike repair manual, a set of wrenches and a stack of magazines named for S sports: Sail, Scuba, Surf.
“So, you seem to do a lot of water things,” she said to make conversation while she set the table.
“Why else live at the beach? Being in water feels good.”
Pool water, maybe, which was clear and clean, not mucky like the ocean and full of creepy weeds and mysterious creatures you couldn’t see. Plus, saltwater burned her eyes.
Finished setting the table, she watched Jake efficiently chop a hunk of red onion into tiny squares that he sprinkled into the bubbling butter. Great hands.
Ariel forced herself to look away. Her gaze snagged on the kitchen linoleum. Bleached, scarred and cracked, it should be replaced. She hoped that was part of Jake’s job. If not, she’d have to pay for it herself.
Now was a good time to find out what Trudy had asked him to do. She’d be gentle, not her usual blunt self. The man was cooking for her, after all. “I guess the construction company you work for gives you a lot of free time for your sports?”
Jake gave a short laugh. “Construction company?” He glanced at her as he picked up an avocado. Cupping it, he deftly coaxed it out of its hull with such easy grace she found it hard to swallow. “I work for myself.”
“So, how, um, did you get into construction?”
“I’m not really into it,” he said, fanning the slices in a gourmet-worthy display onto the cutting board. “I have buddies in the business.” He began cubing the Muenster.
He’d learned construction from buddies? Drinking buddies, no doubt, who swapped construction feats of derring-do over pitchers of margs. The guy was a beach bum, pure and simple. A charming bum, but still a bum. Maybe Trudy’s good sense had run amok long before she headed for London.
“So Trudy says you worked on her neighbor’s place?” she asked, wanting some credentials.
“Yeah. It was fun. And then Trudy offered me this gig.”
Gig? This was a gig? “So, you’re not a builder, per se?”
“Nah. I teach scuba, sailing, surfing, repair bikes, this and that.”
At least he had other income—he’d be able to afford rent when he moved out. “So, tell me what Trudy’s asked you to do.”
“This and that,” he said, snapping eggs one-handed and lightning-quick into a bowl.
“Specify, please.”
“Okay. Let’s see…patch the roof…repair the wall between the bedrooms…deal with the electrical, replace the wallpaper in the living room and kitchen…paint inside and out…replace the kitchen linoleum with tile…” He looked up, considering. “That’s it, I think.”
“That’s a lot,” she said, grateful that Trudy had arranged to have so much done, but worried about living through the chaos of a messy worker. On the other hand, if she cancelled some of the work, when would she be able to afford it? “And how long do you expect it to take?”
“Two-three months. Depends.”
“Depends on what?” What time he got up in the morning? Whether he needed to consult a manual? “That seems too long.”
“You can’t rush quality,” he said, dumping the egg mixture into the omelet pan, pausing to deliver a wicked smile.
“Oh, yes, you can. I would think a month would be plenty. Let’s aim for that. Speed is crucial since this will be my office, too, until I can afford to lease space.”
“You won’t get in my way,” Jake said, sprinkling cheese on the omelet.
“But you’ll get in mine,” she said as gently as she could. “I’ll try to meet clients in their offices—more convenient for them—but I’m sure I’ll need to see a few people here, and I’ll need peace and order for that. The second bedroom will be my office, but until you move out, the living room will have to do. That means the painting stuff must be organized.”
“The sunporch would make a great office,” Jake said, pointing a spatula in the direction of the door out back.
Through the window in the door, she could see tattered window screens, plastic patio furniture, another surfboard and lots of sand. “Hardly. I’ll have business equipment—a computer, a printer, a fax machine. Wind and sand would ruin them. Not to mention how easy it would be to break in.”
Jake jerked the pan so that the food-packed omelet neatly folded in half, and brought it to the table. “I can put up some Plexiglas and a solid door. The awning gives nice shade. Most people would kill for an office overlooking the ocean.” He cut the steaming egg dish in two and slid one side deftly onto her plate, the other onto his, then sat across from her.
“But I can’t incur additional expenses.”
“Don’t worry about the money. It’ll work out.”
“Money never works out without careful attention….” She was momentarily distracted by the omelet, which smelled so heavenly her stomach convulsed with joyful anticipation. “Anyway, I’d like you to finish the living room first. The electrical seems critical, as well. I’d prefer you do the noisy things when I’m not working—early mornings and early evenings—or at least coordinate with my schedule. When you’re ready to start on the kitchen, I can plan for takeout meals.”
“I’ll handle the food,” Jake said. “If you like my cooking, of course.” He plopped a dollop of fragrant salsa—finely chopped tomatoes, onions and fresh cilantro—onto her portion of the omelet. “Give it a try,” he said, pushing the plate closer.
She wanted to finish her plan first, but to satisfy him, she took a bite.
Oh. Wow. The buttery, cheesy eggs melted on her tongue. The mushrooms were a sweet musk, the onions tangy pearls of flavor, the salsa a spicy tomato garden. “This is sooo good,” she said, barely pausing to swallow before taking another bite.
“I’m glad you like it.” Their eyes locked and Ariel felt an alarming sizzle that made her stop chewing. Jake took in her face, then strayed to her chest in an involuntary carnal appraisal. He lifted his eyes to hers, looking pleased with what he’d seen. “Any dietary restrictions? Particular foods you like or dislike?” he asked, making it sound like he was asking after her sexual preferences.
“I like, um, everything.” That sounded bad.
“I could resurface the wood floors, too, you know,” he murmured, equally suggestively. “If I had enough time…”
He seemed to be trying to seduce her…with smooth omelets and gleaming wood floors. And it was working. Freshly surfaced floors would really make the place attractive to buyers….
Stop it. Jake was flirting with her, bribing her. “I can’t afford the floors,” she said, deliberately breaking the gaze.
Jake shrugged. We’ll see, he seemed to be saying.
Ariel went after the omelet again.
Jake chuckled and she looked up, still chewing. “I like it that you’re not afraid to enjoy food. I hate when women nibble and pretend not to be hungry.”
“I’m not much on pretense,” she said, swallowing her last bite. Jake still had half of his omelet.
“No, you get right to the point, all right,” he said. “Like I know you want me to move out of here right away.”
“I think that would be best,” she said, putting down her fork with reluctance, glancing again at all the eggs Jake wasn’t eating. She should have savored hers more…. “I’ve got a lot to handle and this place is too small for two people and a construction zone.” She felt guilty ogling his omelet while she was talking about booting him onto the beach.
“Here,” he said, cutting her a bite of his eggs and holding it out—an intimate gesture that he made seem perfectly natural.
“No, no. I’m fine.” She shook her head. “I had plenty.”
He moved the fork closer, tempting her.
She took the bite quickly, avoiding eye contact, feeling shaky inside. Then the fabulous taste overcame her. “Mmm,” she said. “This is amazing.”
“People love my mixed grill, too. I stuff the meat with chorizo—do you eat meat?”
“Yes.”
“Good. My enchiladas aren’t bad, either.”
“I can imagine,” she said, loving the sound of that. She’d have to get an aerobic exercise plan immediately if she was going to eat any more of Jake’s cooking…which she wouldn’t be for any more than two days. At the most.
“And I make great coffee.” He was hitting her where she was vulnerable, which, right now, was her stomach. “And I’m good company,” he continued, leaning forward, very companionable, very warm…. She had the odd feeling he was tempted to kiss her. And, worse, she kind of liked the idea. She licked her lips, which made Jake take in a little breath before he continued speaking. “How do you feel about…?”
Kissing? Love it. Live for it. She felt herself sway toward him, transfixed by his great lips and teasing smile.
“Poker,” he finished.
Poker? Was poker code for what she thought they were talking about?
“Yeah. I like to have people over for all-night games.”
“All night?”
“Yeah. Five-card draw. There’s an ante limit.”
The daze cleared abruptly. What was wrong with her? Jake was talking about poker, not poker. She was obviously feeling overwhelmed by all the changes and the work she faced and was using this physical attraction as an escape valve. Talk about self-defeating. She had to focus on her goal, not on kissing or poker and any of its double meanings.
“So, you’ve only been here three weeks and you’ve got friends hanging out for poker and enchiladas?”
“I know people in Playa Linda, and I’ve lived up and down the coast. The marina where I work a lot is close. And I make friends pretty easy.”
Friends like Heather, no doubt. Friends she didn’t want sleeping over.
“I’m sure you’re good company and you’re a great cook, Jake, but the problem still stands.”
He spoke in a John Wayne drawl, “This town ain’t big enough for the both of us, Pilgrim. That what you mean?”
“Exactly.”
“Do I make you uncomfortable? Is that it?” he asked, his blue eyes digging in.
There was no point in fibbing. “Yes, actually, you do.”
“I don’t mean to. You don’t have to worry. I don’t believe in fooling around with roommates.”
“Excuse me?” She felt her cheeks go red.
“It’s nothing personal. It just gets too complicated.”
“Oh, it does?” she said. For some reason, she was wounded that he’d said that so easily—as if she weren’t even a temptation. Her inner wild child purred to life—out of sheer stubbornness and exhaustion-induced recklessness.
“Somebody always wants to turn it into something it isn’t,” Jake added.
“And I’m guessing that somebody’s never you.”
Jake shrugged. “Living together triggers nesting instincts for women, I guess, and they start bringing in twigs and bits of twine and dryer fuzz.”
“So you think any woman who lived with you would try to trap you into something permanent?” What an arrogant…
He grinned. “Good point. Not every woman, but why risk it? A good roommate is like gold.”
“I doubt you’d find me a good roommate. I like spic-and-span orderliness and absolute peace and quiet. And classical music.”
“Classical’s good. And don’t be so down on yourself.”
“I’m not down on myself. I’m trying to tell you—” She stopped, realizing he was teasing her.
“It’s all right, Ariel. I’ll find a place to crash for a while—maybe stay on a friend’s boat. Can I keep my gear here though?”
“Your gear? If you can fit it all in the guest room closet, I guess.” She remembered the sailboard and surfboards and the weight bench. No way would that fit in one small closet. She sighed. “Take a couple of days,” she said, “and find a place for you and your stuff.”
“Great.” He sounded relieved. Too relieved. She would stay on his case until he was out. Fully out. Surfboards and all.
“Thanks for the food,” she said, picking up her scraped-clean plate and his. She’d do the dishes as a thank you.
“I’ll clean up when I get back from volleyball,” Jake said. “Why don’t you come with? I’m heading out in a couple hours.”
“No thanks.” Playing was the last thing on her mind. “How about if you clear your things out of my room, while I do the dishes?”
Before he could respond, there was a thump at the door. Jake went to answer it. Lucky bounded in with did ya miss me? all over his doggie face.
“So you smelled the omelet, huh, pal?” he said to the big dog. “She ate your share.” He stuck a thumb at Ariel, but Lucky didn’t take his eyes from Jake. “Okay, okay. I’ll scramble you something.”
“I thought table scraps were bad for dogs.”
“But eggs make his coat shiny,” Jake said, ruffling Lucky’s fur. “He likes my cooking, don’t you, Bucko?”
Ariel did the few dishes while Jake cooked eggs for Lucky. When he’d finished, he slipped the pan into her soapy water.
“So you’ll empty the room now?” she reminded him.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a fake salute. “Let’s roll, Luck Man. We have our orders.”
Lucky swiped his buttery mug with a long pink tongue, then galloped eagerly after Jake. Ariel’s gaze snagged on Jake’s terrific butt, the muscles flexing and releasing with grace and power. With a jolt she realized she was letting soapy water drip onto her feet. Stay on task, she told herself. At least she’d gotten Jake to move out of her room. Next would be the cottage.
But when she peeked into her bedroom ten minutes later, the only change was a pile of vintage Hawaiian shirts on the bed—tossed there from the open closet, which still held a variety of footwear like hiking boots, cycling and athletic shoes and Velcro-strapped sandals, as well as another surfboard.
Jake stood at the bureau flipping through a magazine while he did one-handed wrist curls with a substantial hand weight, Lucky at his feet, looking up at him. What’s next, boss?
“How’s the moving going?” she asked. “Can I help?”
“Fine.” He smiled at her, his biceps swelling with a slow curl, his triceps rippling with its release.
Her objection died on her tongue at the sight of all that power on casual display. She averted her gaze and noticed a photo on the bureau. Four people were pictured—a stern man in a uniform, a pretty woman with a pageboy cut, a young girl and a teen boy—Jake with shoulder-length hair, dark baggy clothes and a sullen expression that was the opposite of the carefree, wiseass look she’d seen so far.
“So, this is your family?” she asked.
Jake stopped lifting weights and looked over her shoulder. “Yep. Ten years ago or so. I was nineteen, I think.”
“You don’t look too happy.”
“I wasn’t.” He studied the photo. “My father and I fought—he was career Navy and I was as far from shipshape as I could get myself.”
“That must have been rough.”
“Everybody rebels,” he said, but she could tell there was more he wasn’t saying.
“So you moved a lot? Being in the military?”
“Some.”
Standing close to him, she was aware of how broad and sturdy he was and caught the warm coconut smell of his skin. “That must have been hard—leaving friends and school and all….”
“You make new friends. I learned to pack light in life.”
She thought about how much junk he’d filled the cottage with and wondered what he meant.
“I think it was harder on my sister than me.”
“Is this her?” Ariel tapped the girl in the photo.
“Yep. That’s Penny.”
“She’s pretty. Your mother, too.”
“Penny’s a great kid. If I can keep my parents from squashing her spirit.”
“Really?”
“I think they’re afraid she’ll turn out like me.”
“And that’s bad?”
“To my folks, yeah. My dad lives to lay down the law. I did okay in school, but not up to muster in his mind. And not only was I not interested in a Navy career, I made it a point to debate military spending at the dinner table.”
“Ouch,” she said.
“I figured I must have been adopted.” He grinned at her, but she saw regret in his eyes. And sadness.
“She looks happy here,” Ariel said, picking up another photo of Penny—this one a prom shot with a date.
“Yeah. But she works hard to keep the peace with the folks—and keep me from worrying about her.” He studied the photo.
It was sweet that Jake was so concerned about his sister. She noticed a more recent shot of Penny with Jake. His blue eyes gleamed with pleasure and his smile was so wide he had a dimple—as if his face couldn’t hold his happiness without crinkling.
“So now you know about my family,” Jake said, drawing her gaze away from the picture. He folded his arms and tilted his head in her direction. “Tell me about yours.”
“Not much to tell. My mother lives in Pasadena.”
“Brothers and sisters?”
“Nope. It’s always been just me and my mom. My dad died when I was three.”
“I’m sorry.” Jake stood uncomfortably close and studied her face.
She took a step back and bumped into the bureau. “It’s all right. I don’t remember him. Mom and I were a good team. Us against the world, you know?” She smiled.
“You two still close?”
“Not as much as I’d like. We’re both busy. We talk on the phone.” She felt a little guilty about that, but with the new business, she’d been obsessed. Troubled by the thought, she focused in on the task at hand. “I’d better let you get back to moving out,” she said. “How about if I empty the closet for you?”
“You always in a hurry?” he said.
“That’s how I get things done.”
“I get the feeling if I don’t look out, you’ll just mow me down.”
“Doesn’t seem likely.” She knew from crashing into him earlier that she’d just bounce off his powerful frame. The thought gave her a shiver. She tried not to picture herself falling into him anywhere near a bed.
Jake shook his head as though he thought she was crazy, but he did sweep up the shirts from the bed, gather an armful of shoes from the closet and carry the whole mess through the broken wall to the guest room.
Ariel began to hang her dresses, suits and coats in the partially emptied closet, using the metal hangers there. Tomorrow, she’d get her wooden hangers out of storage, along with everything she needed to make the place feel like home. She’d returned to her suitcase and gathered an armload of lingerie when Jake returned.
“What you got there?” he teased.
She clutched her undies to her chest, painfully aware of how many were granny panties.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” He opened a bureau drawer and lifted out an armload of socks and underwear—boxers, she noticed—in a riot of colors, many of them silk.
“That’s okay,” she said, holding her sensible unmentionables more tightly.
“There’s nothing wrong with white,” he said.
She blushed, then just shoved the clothes into the emptied drawer. She wasn’t about to organize them with Jake watching over her shoulder.
“White is a tease,” he continued. “Simple and innocent. Take the bra you’ve got on. It’s so thin a guy might think you’re not wearing anything at all…just speaking theoretically, of course.”
“Of course.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“You have no idea what it does to a man when he thinks a woman has nothing on underneath,” he said, watching her face.
She felt an unnerving tickle between her legs, so she turned to grab up more clothes—slips and scarves—from her bag.
She turned back just as he mused, “No snaps, no latches, no hooks…. Just one thin layer of fabric between us and glory.” He grabbed some T-shirts from a drawer, emptying it, then grinned at her, “And if there are no panties…well, that’s like winning a Powerball.”
“What makes you think I want to know this?” she said, shoving her clothes into the emptied space, unhappily close to Jake, who leaned against the bureau.
“Don’t women wonder what men think about?”
“We already know—sex…every fifteen seconds, right?” She closed the drawer with an authoritative hip check.
“Well, I don’t wear underwear.” He winked. “In case you’re curious.”
She couldn’t help glancing at the crotch of his swim trunks. When she dragged her gaze back up, he was waiting for her with a smirk. Gotcha.
“Women buy me these,” he said, lifting the load in his arms. “God knows why.”
Especially because he probably wasted no time getting out of them. He wandered away, Lucky lumbering after him. Ariel watched him go, unable to believe she was joking about underwear with a man she’d only known for four hours.
Her energy seemed to give Jake momentum, at least, and he picked up the pace. While she emptied her second suitcase, Jake dragged the weight bench out, along with some things piled in the corner—a basket with Frisbees and balls and a brightly colored fabric kite—whistling cheerfully the entire time.
Ariel was putting the photo of her and her mother on her nightstand when Jake stopped to look. “Your mom?” he said, picking up the pewter frame and examining its contents. Light flashed from the glass onto his face.
“Yeah. Christmas three years ago.” She and her mother stood with their arms around each other’s waist in front of the fake Christmas tree in her mother’s manufactured home. Myra, one of the diner waitresses, had taken the shot.
“You look like her,” Jake said, studying the picture. “Same jaw and mouth. Your eyes are the same green. Nice.”
“Thank you.” She looked down at the photo again, concentrating on her mother. “She looks tired, don’t you think? She worked double shifts to afford this Christmas.” That had to stop. Ariel couldn’t wait to make enough money to supplement what her mother made at the diner, so she could work part-time, maybe go to school, have some vacation, do something she really wanted besides work, work, work. The thought of that put the fire in Ariel’s belly again. She would make this business fly, or die trying.
“So, invite her out here for a weekend,” Jake said. “She can hit the beach and relax.”
Ariel laughed. “My mother at the beach? I can’t imagine.” It would be good for her to take a breather, though, and the two of them could do some real talking for a change. Maybe after she’d made some headway with her business and the cottage was finished, she’d invite her mother out to see the place.
Jake put the photo on the bureau, then surveyed the room. “Looks like you’re set.”
“For now. Tomorrow I’ll get my office equipment and personal stuff out of storage. Rent a truck, I guess.”
“You need a truck? I can borrow one easy, if you’d like.”
She looked at him. Borrowing a truck would be quicker and cheaper. Otherwise, she’d have to take buses to where her car was waiting in a friend’s garage, drive to the truck rental place, backtrack to return the truck. “I hate to put you out. You have all the work on the cottage to do.”
“I’ve got plenty of time for that.”
“Just a month.”
He just grinned, acknowledging her jab, but brushing it off. “Let me give you a hand.”
“Okay. I’d appreciate that. I’ll pay for gas, of course.”
“Come on. We’re roommates.”
For some reason, they both looked straight at the unmade bed, still dented from her nap. Ariel suddenly needed him out of the gold-lit room that was entirely too intimate for strangers—even strangers who’d examined each other’s underwear.
She looked toward what would be Jake’s room—for tonight at least—and saw the gaping hole. “Maybe we should put that sheet up now? Between the rooms? Maybe one of those canvas drop cloths would work.” Nice and thick and opaque.
“You sure? You won’t bother me. Unless you walk in your sleep? And that wouldn’t necessarily be a problem….” He was teasing her, but she felt that funny quiver all up and down her spine.
“I’m a very quiet sleeper,” she said primly. “But I’d like the canvas, please.”
“You’re the boss,” he said and headed away, grinning, Lucky at his heels.
Jake brought back the canvas and Ariel held it up while he nailed it in place. It was thick, but no sound barrier. She thought about telling Jake not to bring Heather home, but decided she’d probably ordered him around enough for the night, and vowed to be asleep before any hanky-panky got started.
A snuffling sound made her turn. There stood Lucky with his head squished into an odd shape, a silky trunk of panty hose hanging from his muzzle. Her last pair of fancy stockings!
“How did you get those?” she asked him, tugging the panty hose off his face and holding them up. “Ruined.”
Jake laughed. “That’s no way to get into a lady’s underwear, Lucky.”
“I spent a fortune on these.”
“You’ve got great legs, why cover them up?”
“It’s just the principle of the thing,” she said, though the compliment was not lost on her. Her fancy nylons were ruined, kind of like her life plan right now. The beach was out to get her one way or another. She balled up the shredded delicate and shot Lucky a fierce look.
Who, me? Lucky’s expression seemed to say. Just like Jake.
“Come on, Lucky,” Jake said. “I think we just wore out our welcome.” He held open the drop-cloth curtain between the bedrooms until Lucky passed over. He hesitated before following. “Holler if you need any more help,” he said.
Help? God save her from any more of his help tonight. “I’ll be fine, thanks,” she said, relieved when he let the cloth barrier fall between them.
4
WHILE ARIEL CAREFULLY FOLDED and organized the unmentionables Jake had repeatedly mentioned, she could hear him clunking around in his room. White is a tease, he’d said. Simple and innocent. Her cheeks heated. Please. He was just one line after the next.
When she’d finished putting all her things away, she surveyed the room. It needed her pictures on the wall and her rocking chair and her linens, all of which were in storage. But with Jake’s truck, she’d be able to pick up everything. That was one thing off her to-do list.
Now to call her mother. She’d alerted her from London that she’d be returning. She tapped in the number, determined to put things in the best possible light so her mother wouldn’t worry.
“I’m baaack,” she said when her mom picked up.
“I’m so sorry, sweetie. You had your heart set on London.”
“But this is a challenge, too,” she said. “Building my own business will be fun.” Her stomach twisted with tension.
“How’s the beach house?”
“Very…beachy. Trudy was having it fixed up. So I’m, um, dealing with that.”
“When you set your mind to something, you make it happen. You’re like me that way.”
“I hope I’m like you.”
“Of course you are. Your father was so distractible. Always ready to change directions. You have a good head on your shoulders.”
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Dawn Atkins
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Roommates are off-limits… aren′t they?Ariel Adams hates everything about the beach. So when circumstances force her to move into a small beach house, she′s convinced life can′t get worse. It can. The house isn′t empty. Inside, sports gear, dirty towels, a giant dog…and Jake Renner– the sexy handyman fixing up the cottage– fill the rooms to overflowing. So much for privacy! How is she supposed to share the cramped space with too-tempting Jake…and only a sheet dividing their bedrooms?Used to leading the life of a carefree bachelor, Jake knows Ariel thinks he′s just another beach bum. To complicate matters, the more time he spends with Ariel, the more Jake finds himself unable to resist her. After a few wild encounters with her, Jake is hooked…and ready to prove to Ariel that they make better roommates when they′re sharing the same bed!