“You didn’t blow up the microwave then, did you?”
“We were nuking radish seeds. If it had been something edible it would have been a different story.”
This morning’s incident proved just how inept she was in the kitchen. Yet Isaiah had her almost believing.
No. She shook her head.
“I appreciate the kind words and you trying to teach me to cook, but we both know there’s no way I’ll be good enough to prepare a big meal like Thanksgiving dinner in three and a half weeks. Besides, my business is hopping with the holiday season coming up. Not to mention the outcome of Tuesday’s election...” Her voice drifted off as she recalled how busy the next two months would be for her. It had been a huge mistake to allow herself to be goaded into the bet in the first place.
“Look at me.” Isaiah used his forefinger to tilt her chin upward until their gazes connected. “I have a pretty good idea this wager isn’t really about cooking a meal, right?”
Sandra didn’t answer. As she met his intense stare, it was if he was peering into her very soul.
“You still feel like you have something to prove, don’t you?”
Although it wasn’t necessary, Sandra answered his question with a single bob of her head. She swallowed hard as she realized time and distance hadn’t broken their special bond. A connection deeper than physical attraction, more intimate than sex.
Isaiah Jacobs still knew her inside out, better than she knew herself.
“I’m your friend. What’s important to you is important to me,” he said.
Moreover, he seemed to really care, Sandra thought.
“I’m no chef,” Isaiah continued. “I’ve never attempted a Thanksgiving spread, either. But I can find my way around a kitchen, and if you really want to win this bet, I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
She stared up at him as he spoke.
“We’re both college-educated adults. Between the two of us we should be able to follow a few recipes and ensure you get dinner on the table.”
“One of the terms of the wager is that I do it myself.”
Isaiah nodded. “And you will.”
“Exactly what are you proposing?” Sandra asked.
A confident smile spread across his lips. “That we handle this situation military style.”
Sandra frowned. “So what are you going to do, bark orders at me?”
Shaking his head, Isaiah chuckled. “Not at all,” he said. “Sure, discipline is part of military training, but it’s only one aspect. Another is learning by rote. Doing something repeatedly until it becomes routine.”
Sandra found herself smiling back at him as understanding dawned. “You’re saying we’ll do it over and over again.”
“Until you can prepare Thanksgiving dinner in your sleep,” Isaiah finished. “We both have to eat, anyway. We’ll simply cook Thanksgiving dishes for dinner every night.”
Sandra closed her eyes briefly to consider it. He’d made the solution to the problem complicating her life all week seem almost simple. The man also made her feel as if she could accomplish anything.
So maybe it could work, Sandra thought. She did have something to prove, and dammit, she wanted to win.
Unfortunately, her common sense took the opportunity to pay her another visit. It carried a huge banner with the word DANGER scrawled across it in big red letters.
If you’re not careful, you’ll fall for him again, and just like last time, he’ll break your heart.
Sandra brushed aside the warning call. That wasn’t going to happen.
All Isaiah was offering, all she wanted from him, was friendship and help in the kitchen. Sex hotter than her cayenne-infused French toast was just a bonus.
Besides, he’d be gone the day after Thanksgiving. What could it hurt? She’d win the bet and have fun in the process.
“Okay, let’s do it,” she said.
“Good,” Isaiah said. “All I ask is one thing.”
Sandra raised a brow. “And what’s that?”
“I want to be the first person you take for a ride as the new owner of your old man’s Chevelle.”
“Deal.” Sandra held out her hand to seal their agreement with a handshake.
Isaiah regarded her extended hand. “Oh, I think we can do better than a handshake,” he said. “A lot better.”
Sandra grinned and inclined her head toward the abandoned French toast. “Perhaps seconds on my red-hot cooking?”
“Later,” he said, desire simmering in his dark-eyed gaze. He pulled her to him. The hard evidence of what he had in mind pressed against her. “First, I need to satisfy a craving for your red-hot loving.”
Chapter 9
Sunrise found Isaiah seated on a craggy cliff overlooking the rocks and sandy coastline hugging the deep blue waters of the Atlantic.
The air was crisp and carried the salty tang of the ocean. A smell that was unmistakably home.
He inhaled a big gulp of it, and as he exhaled he knew the air was also tinged with an intangible he couldn’t smell.
Independence.
This morning he’d awakened to his own body clock. Later, he’d eat when he was hungry, sleep when he was tired, jump in his old truck and drive as far as he wanted without a schedule, an order to follow or restrictions.
Or maybe he’d simply spend the rest of the day sitting on this rock, painting.
He studied the sunlight glistening off the waves as the tide swept across the sand. He looked down at the page in his sketchbook where he’d attempted to capture the subtle magnificence in watercolor.
The small ring-bound book, or one similar to it, had been his constant companion over the years. He could hardly wait to finally have a studio he could fill with giant canvases.
Soon, he thought.
Isaiah exchanged the short pencil for a watercolor brush and began filling in the sparkling blue of the ocean in short, quick strokes. He was so engrossed in his work, he didn’t hear Sandra approach from behind.
“Morning.”
Isaiah turned at the sound of her voice. She stood behind him dressed in sneakers, black running tights and a red fleece jacket. A red headband held her shoulder-length hair off her face. She looked adorable.
He put his sketchbook aside and stood. “Morning, gorgeous.” He kissed her. The feel of her lips against his reminded him how good it had felt to wake up beside her the past three mornings.
Too good.
Now that the weekend was over, he’d have to get used to sleeping in his own bed, alone.
“I wondered where you’d gone off to,” Sandra said. “When I woke up, you weren’t in bed, but your truck was still parked outside.”
Isaiah looked up at the sun and then at the beach below them. “When I was away, this is the scene that came to mind whenever I thought of Wintersage. I wanted to see if I could do it justice.”
Sandra glanced at the small sketchbook and the portable paint palette on the cliff ledge. “Can I see?”
“I don’t want to hold you up from your run,” he said.
She shook her head. “I’m not a runner. I just do a half hour walk along the beach weekday mornings so I can indulge in a cupcake for lunch. Oh, the bakery has a new owner. You should stop in while you’re here, her cupcakes are—”
“Positively addictive,” Isaiah interrupted. “I went there for the first time a week ago, and I’m already a regular customer.”
“Well, let me take a peek at your watercolor.”
Isaiah took her hand to steady her as she sat down on the large rock, and then took a seat beside her. He passed her the sketchbook and waited, eager to hear her opinion. Just as he used to do when they were students at Wintersage Academy.
She took her time examining the unfinished painting, which was the
size of a large snapshot. Then she looked out onto the water and back to his work.
“It’s beautiful, Isaiah. You’re not even done, and already it’s better than the real thing.” She inclined her head toward the sketchbook in her hands. “May I?”
Isaiah nodded. He watched her go back to the worn front cover of the book and begin flipping pages. She stopped at his rendition of the Tower of Palazzo Vecchio in Italy.
“You were in Florence?” she asked.
“After Annapolis, I was stationed in Italy.”
“I had no idea.” Sandra studied the painting, before flipping over to a landscape that included Mount Etna shortly after one of the volcano’s famous eruptions. “I’ve seen your parents over the years, and I’ve designed dresses for your mother, but we always tiptoed around the subject of you.” Sandra shrugged. “I guess I always assumed you were on a warship somewhere.”
“The navy puts their personnel where they’re most needed, and they determined that, as an economics major, I was needed pushing paper in a comptroller’s office at a naval air base in Sicily,” he said.
She continued to look through the sketchbook. “So this is what you did when you weren’t helping keep track of the navy’s dollars?”
Isaiah nodded. “This and spending any downtime at art museums in Italy and the rest of Europe.”
She returned the book to him. “I didn’t realize you were still an artist.”
Isaiah nodded. “I’m as passionate about it as I was back in school.”
“It’s a shame you didn’t pursue it full-time,” she said softly. “Who knows what you could have accomplished by now.”
An awkward silence ensued as the part of their past they’d been careful to avoid took up residence between them.
Silence and regret.
“It’s the reason I’m booked on a flight to London the day after Thanksgiving,” Isaiah said finally.
Sandra gazed at him, a questioning expression on her face.
He gathered up the portable items that made up his makeshift art studio and nudged her with his elbow. “Let’s walk, and I’ll update you.”
He stood, extended his free hand to Sandra and led her down the path of the cliff walk and through a bed of rocks to the wet sand. Although there was no real need, he continued to hold her hand as they started their trek down the stretch of beach.
“I was accepted at the Royal Academy of Arts,” he said. “Classes don’t start until January, but I want to give myself time to settle in, find studio space and a place to live.”
Sandra didn’t speak immediately, but he felt a hitch in her stride.
“Wow. I mean, congratulations,” she said. “That school tops most lists of the best art schools in the world. They must have been really impressed with your work.”
Isaiah nodded. He hadn’t had many pieces when he’d applied, because of restrictions on his time. He’d been overjoyed to make the cut and to be able to finance a few years off to study on his own.
Despite his wealthy background and substantial inheritances left to him by his grandparents, he’d lived frugally during his stint in the navy, putting aside money every pay period to finance his dreams with an income he’d earned.
Sandra looked up at him. “I’m happy for you,” she said. “But to be honest, I’m also surprised. I know you said you were leaving, but in the back of my mind I figured you’d end up—”
“Going to work at Martine’s,” he finished.
She shoved her free hand into her jacket pocket. “After all, it was part of your parents’ master plan for you.”
Isaiah listened for traces of lingering anger or bitterness in her tone. There were none. Only a barely detectable hint of sadness rode the salty air.
“You even majored in economics at the naval academy, just like they wanted.”
Insisted was more like it, he thought. She was right. He’d followed their blueprint to the letter.
Until now.
“I’m sorry, Sandra,” Isaiah said. She hadn’t asked for an apology, but he owed her the words that already were ten years overdue. “I know I—”
Sandra stopped walking. She touched her fingertips to his lips and shook her head. A woman with gray hair walking a golden retriever bobbed her head in greeting as she passed them.
“An apology isn’t necessary,” Sandra said. “We were both kids, and it was a very long time ago. You made the best decision you could at the time.”
I made the wrong one.
“Doesn’t matter now, anyway,” Sandra said, as if she’d heard the words echoing through his head. “Friends, remember?”
“Friends.” He squeezed the hand he still held, and they resumed walking.
“You’re only here for a few weeks, and I’m not interested in drudging up old drama. Let’s just enjoy each other’s company,” she said.
Now it was Isaiah’s turn to be surprised. He hadn’t come across many women who hadn’t wanted to talk, dissect every problem and then rehash it ad nauseam. The more he got to know this Sandra, the more she intrigued him.
“I’d like that,” he said.
She stopped again. “Speaking of parents, I think it would be best if we were discreet about our friendship,” she said. “We don’t want them jumping to all the wrong conclusions.”
“You’re right, but I’m sure the brief conversation we had at the Halloween party has already hit the Wintersage gossip circuit.”
“And been blown totally out of proportion,” Sandra added.
She looked up at the sun and then back to her house.
“I’m keeping you, aren’t I?” Isaiah asked. “The weekend has been great, but I’m sure you’ve got to get back to work this morning.”
Actually, great was an understatement, he thought. It had been incredible. Given him a new reason to loathe Mondays. And it wasn’t just the sex. He was enjoying getting to know the person she’d become.
Isaiah liked all-grown-up Sandra, a lot.
“I do have a ton of work to do.” She gnawed at her bottom lip, drawing his attention to her sexy mouth and the lips he could kiss for days without stopping to breathe.
He forced himself to focus on what she was saying instead of the tightening in his groin.
“But Mondays are my creative days, and I sometimes work from home.”
Sandra gazed up at the sky again and out at the horizon. “I was just thinking. Maybe I could pop up to the house for a quick shower and a thermos of coffee, and then join you out here to sketch out a few preliminary designs while you paint.”
Isaiah flashed back to them sitting on the cliffs overlooking this same beach after school. He’d be drawing, while Sandra sat beside him sketching a dress design she was positive was destined for the Paris runway.
“Just like old times.” They said the words at the same time.
Isaiah looked up toward her house. “Want some company in that shower?”
A slow, sexy smile spread over lips that were wreaking havoc on his imagination and a certain hard part of his anatomy. “I can’t think of a better way to start the week.”
* * *
That evening, Sandra arrived at The Quarterdeck to find her friends already seated.
She grinned at the sight of Janelle, delighted to see her friend and eager to hear about her honeymoon in paradise. She gave both her and Vicki quick hugs and then slid into the empty chair at the table.
“Looking good, Mrs. Dubois,” Sandra said, emphasizing Janelle’s new title. She took a quick sip of the drink her friends had already ordered for her. “If you’ve started telling Vicki about Tahiti, you’ll just have to start over,” she said. “I want to hear every detail.”
Instead of launching into the gushing honeymoon report Sandra anticipated, Janelle stared at her wordles
sly. Her friend’s suspicion-filled eyes narrowed.
“What?” Sandra asked.
Janelle looked her up and down. “That’s what I’m trying to put my finger on.”
Sandra scrunched her face in confusion. “Sounds like you may have brought home a case of jet lag along with your gorgeous, sun-kissed skin.”
Leaning back in her chair, Janelle ran a red-nailed fingertip along the edge of her martini glass and continued to study her. “So-o-o, if I’m the one who just returned from her honeymoon, how come you’re the one glowing?”
Sandra coughed, nearly choking on her drink. “D-don’t be silly,” she sputtered.
“You look like you just walked in from a weekend sex retreat.”
Sandra watched her two best friends exchange glances.
“I’m sure it’s no coincidence Isaiah Jacobs is back in town.” Vicki kicked into the conversation. “He and Sandra were spotted at the rec center Friday night looking mighty cozy.”
“How’d you know he...” Sandra began.
“Wintersage is a small town,” Janelle stated.
Sandra groaned inwardly. Usually, she didn’t hold out on her two best friends. It was just she knew they’d immediately jump to conclusions and read more into what was going on between her and Isaiah than was there.
“You two are imagining things.” She turned to Vicki in hopes of jump-starting a change in topic. “So did you come up with any ideas for your big makeover?”
“What makeover?” Janelle asked.
The waiter dropped off a basket of piping hot bread at their table and took their dinner orders. Sandra requested the native shrimp and immediately reached for a roll. She was starved.
Besides, the sooner they started stuffing their mouths with food, the better.
“So what’s this about a makeover?” Janelle asked again.
Vicki shrugged. “It’s nothing. I’m just contemplating a few changes.” She turned to Sandra. “Now back to you.”
“It’s obvious you slept with him, so just admit it,” Janelle said.
Vicki took a sip of her white wine spritzer. “Yeah, you’ll feel better.”
If Sandra had known it was that obvious, she would have covered her so-called glow with a coating of makeup. No use trying to deny it now, she thought, and confirmed their suspicions with a nod of her head.
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