TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT

by Sharon Mignerey

  So much for putting his best foot forward and trying to impress her.

  Sly leaped from the dock onto the boat, his tail wagging, then jumped on Ian as soon as he reached the deck.

  "I missed you, too," Ian told the dog, scratching his ears. His attention, though, was on Rosie. She'd clearly been working: splotches of dried mud covered her apron and a spot on her jaw. Her expression was guarded, as though she didn't know what to make of his being here. He understood the feeling. She looked tired, and she looked wonderful.

  "Hi," he said.

  "Hi," she returned.

  The silence stretched between them, long and more awkward than he had imaged possible. Finally he motioned toward the gate at the back of the boat. "Would you like to come aboard?"

  "Yes." She didn't quite meet his glance.

  "How have you been?" he asked, immediately deciding it was the dumbest question he'd ever asked.

  "Busy." This time she met his gaze straight-on. "There's been a lot to do since I was gone so long. And then since I got back, there's been all those repairmen showing up." Her eyebrow rose in that so-familiar gesture that indicated she was fighting her temper. She began ticking items off on her fingers. "I have a new back door, one with shatterproof glass. Ten new panes of polycarbonate on the greenhouse, new tables in the greenhouse and more help than I needed in replanting seedlings. I can't repay you for all that." She swallowed. "I didn't want—"

  "You needed help, and I wanted to help." Hilda had provided an itemized list when he'd asked for it. What was he supposed to do? Ignore that he was responsible for the trouble he'd brought to Rosie's door.

  Her eyebrow rose further. "You might have returned my phone calls."

  "I was busy." Since she'd sounded mad on the messages that she'd left for him, he decided the better course was to keep sending her help and give her time to cool off.

  "Busy. That explains why you left without so much as a word."

  Now, that sounded promising. He gave her one of his practiced smiles. "Miss me?"

  "Like I'd miss a toothache." She glanced at the floor where Sly had left muddy footprints. "I should get something to wash off these prints before you return the boat to Mike."

  She opened the door and went inside, and he followed her.

  "Don't worry about it."

  "How can I not?" She continued toward the galley where cleaning supplies were stowed beneath the sink. "You don't know how Mike is about—"

  "Mike isn't going to care."

  "Yeah, right."

  "It's not his boat anymore."

  She straightened and faced him. "It's not?"

  He shook his head.

  "He loves this boat."

  "He's buying a new one—a bigger one. Do you really want to talk about Mike Eriksen?"

  "No." She retrieved the cleaner from under the sink. "You bought it, didn't you?"

  Ian nodded.

  "Oh." She turned around and stared at him.

  He should have thought this through a little more, he decided.

  How hard could it be to tell her that he loved her, ask if she loved him back, and be done with it?

  "If you're not returning the boat to Mike … Ian, what are you doing here? Why did you leave the other day?" Her chin quivered, and her eyes took on a sudden sheen. "Without so much as a goodbye?"

  His heart constricted. He had assumed that she'd be mad at him for leaving. Hurt, though. That surprised him, and it provided another tiny ember of hope.

  "At the time…" He cleared his throat and looked away from her, unwilling to admit that he'd felt hurt by her rejection. "It seemed like a good idea. I had some things to take care of."

  She set the cleaner down on the counter with a thump. "And these things were so urgent you couldn't wait—"

  "I didn't want to talk to you, okay?"

  "You're mad at me?"

  "Not anymore." He jammed his hands in his pockets, hating the conversation and not having any idea how to make it go better.

  "Well, fine." She wrapped her arms around herself and surprised him by not marching back out of the boat.

  "So." She sighed and met his gaze. "Why did you buy this boat?"

  He glanced around, deciding that he'd lost his mind. How did he explain something to her that he didn't fully understand himself. Every reason that came to mind sounded incredibly selfish.

  Her jaw dropped as though she had suddenly come upon some great realization. She marched toward him and would have poked him in the middle of his chest if he hadn't grabbed her hand. "You didn't buy the damn boat to give to me, did you?"

  "No."

  "Because if you did, that sort of thing doesn't impress me."

  She snatched her hand away from his as though his touch had burned her.

  "You've already made that real clear."

  "I don't want it. I don't."

  "I didn't buy the boat for you, dammit. Good God, you think that I think so little of myself that I'd buy you a boat to make you love me?" He glared at her. If he'd thought of it, he might have, he silently admitted. Which proved it—he had lost his mind. "I bought it for me. And I don't have to explain myself."

  "Why are you here?"

  He cleared his throat. Snarling that he loved her wasn't likely to have the desired effect. Finally he said, "I came to clear the air." When she turned away from him, he added, "Lily's moving here soon, and I don't want to lose her friendship because you and I—"

  Rosie turned back to face him, and he could swear that her shoulders had slumped. "Consider it cleared." She opened her mouth as if to say something else, then clamped it shut. She stepped around him and went to the door where she paused and called Sly. She met his gaze momentarily, then went through the door and up the path toward her house without waiting to see if the dog followed.

  His heart thudding in his chest, Ian went to the back of the boat and watched her walk away. Her shoulders were bent as though she carried the weight of the world. The air was anything but cleared, but then how could it be when he hadn't been honest with her?

  He glanced down at the dog who sat next to him. "She's going to think you're a traitor, you know."

  The dog's eyebrows twitched.

  Ian opened the gate, and the dog trotted up the trail ahead of him. When they reached the porch, the door was open. Slowly he climbed the steps and crossed the porch, so reminded of the first morning he'd come to her house. She hadn't wanted him anywhere near her that day. He wasn't all that sure anything had changed since.

  "Rosie?" he called, peering into the house.

  She came out of the bathroom, and he could see that she'd taken off the apron and washed her hands and face. While he watched, tears gathered in her eyes, then spilled suddenly down her cheeks.

  He came into the room and reached for her.

  She held out her hands, not in welcome, but to ward him off.

  "What is it?" he asked. "What can I do?"

  "Nothing." She headed across the kitchen and wiped her face with the tissue she took from a box.

  He followed and this time ignored her silent protest when he took her hand. "What's wrong, then?"

  "You."

  "Me?"

  She took her hand back and began to pace. "Yes. Geez, men are such stupid jerks." She waved an arm. "You make love to me and give me the best sex I've ever had and then you leave without a word. And I don't hear a thing from you for ten damn days. I'm just reminded of you every minute of every day because you keep doing things for me. And you come to clear the air. And then you wonder what's wrong?" She stopped and glared at him through the tears washing down her face. "You don't always have to be doing things for me."

  "Okay." He liked doing things for her.

  "And stop being so agreeable. You're the bossy one."

  "Takes one to know one," he retorted.

  Her chin quivered.

  "Rosie, for pity's sake, just spit it out. What do you want?"

  The tears became a flood. "You," she whi
spered. "Dammit, just you."

  His heart stopped. Sure he hadn't correctly heard her, he took a step toward her.

  She managed a tremulous smile. "You like it here, don't you?"

  No place had ever felt like home before. "You know I do."

  She swallowed and raised her face toward his. "The other day when … when you told me that you lo-loved me…"

  He took another step closer. "I meant it, Rosie."

  "Why did you come, Ian?" she whispered.

  "Because I had to know."

  "What?"

  "If you love me, or if I'm going to have to spend the rest of my life alone."

  She touched his cheek, lying her palm flat against his skin. "I love you."

  He put his hand over hers and with his other hand drew her even closer. "Tell me what you want."

  "Just you," she returned. "That's all." A tremulous smile lit her face. "Your body on occasion if you're inclined to share."

  Finally his heart started beating again. "You ask a lot."

  "To me it's the world." She leaned back to look at him. "Do you want children?"

  He nodded. "More to the point, do you want children?" The tears came again, and he wiped them away.

  "Yes."

  He stared down at her and told her the truth he was so afraid of. "I was so sure you didn't want me."

  "You've got to be kidding." She lifted his hand and placed it over her heart. "Only with every minute of every day. I love you. I think I have, almost from the very first day."

  "Ah, Rosie." He scooped her up and carried her toward her bedroom.

  Being in his arms again felt perfect, exhilarating, especially as she realized his intent.

  He set her down on the bed.

  "You want me? Just me?" With quick efficient movements, he stripped, then stood naked before her, clearly aroused. "This is me, Rosie. Battered and scarred." He held his arms toward her in a gesture of surrender. "No prize, but I'm all yours."

  She looked at him, loving him so much she felt too small for her skin. She wiggled out of her jeans. Holding his glance, she pulled her shirt off and unfastened her bra. "That's pretty amazing considering what I did to you that first day." She briefly touched him. "You have no idea how glad I am that I didn't do any permanent harm."

  "Tell me again, Rosie."

  "What?" She scooted across the bed to make room for him and held her arms out toward him.

  "That you love me."

  She cupped her hands around his face and looked deeply into his eyes. "You're my destiny, Ian. Everything that happened to me—I'd relive it all again, knowing that I'd find you at the end of my journey." She brought her face closer, pressing her lips across his cheek and brow and chin. "I love you, Ian Stearne."

  They fell onto the bed, kissing and holding each other close. He pulled her beneath him and in one smooth stroke, entered her. "I'm home, Rosie. Wherever you are."

  She waited for the fear to come, then realized it wouldn't. This was Ian. Her love. And he was exactly where she wanted him. She held him close, whispering her love to him.

  Much, much later he announced, "We're getting married right away—one of those children we want could already be on the way." He brushed her hair away from her face and gazed down at her, seeing the face he'd been looking for—the face that belonged to the mother of his children. "Your house is a good place to raise kids."

  "Our house," she said to him. "Our home."

  "Yeah." His uncertain luck had held one last time. He had everything he'd ever wanted.

  * * * * *