by Nora Roberts
Her jaw tightened as she rehung the curtains, gave them a quick fluff.
Cover the lovely old floors with some fancy wall-to-wall carpet and paint the walls some hot color that made the eyes sting. Resentment bubbled as she marched into the bathroom to put a bunch of early rosebuds in a shallow bowl.
Anybody with any sense could see the place only needed a little care, a bit more color here and there. If she had any say in it . . .
She stopped herself, realizing that her fists were clenched, and her face, reflected in the mirror over the sink, was bright with fury. ‘‘Oh, Grace, what is wrong with you?’’ She shook her head, nearly laughed at herself. ‘‘In the first place you don’t have any say, and in the second you don’t know that she’s going to change a single thing.’’
It was just that she could, Grace admitted. And once you changed one thing, nothing was quite the same again.
Isn’t that what had happened between her and Ethan? Something had changed, and now she was both afraid and hopeful that things wouldn’t be quite the same.
He thought of her, she mused and sighed at her own reflection. And what did he think? She wasn’t a beauty, and she’d never filled out enough to be sexy. Now and then, she knew, she caught a man’s eye, but she never held it.
She wasn’t smart or particularly clever, had neither stimulating conversation nor flirtatious ways. Jack had once told her she had stability. And he’d convinced them both, for a while, that that was what he wanted. But stability wasn’t the sort of trait that attracted a man.
Maybe if her cheekbones were higher or her dimples deeper. Or if her lashes were thicker and darker. Maybe if that flirty curl hadn’t skipped a generation and left her hair straight as a pin.
What did Ethan think when he looked at her? She wished she had the courage to ask him.
She looked—and saw the ordinary.
When she had danced she hadn’t felt ordinary. She’d felt beautiful and special and deserving of her name. Dreamily, she dipped into a plié, settling crotch on heels, then lifting again. She’d have sworn her body sighed in pleasure. Indulging herself, she flowed into an old, well remembered movement, ending on a slow pirouette.
‘‘Ethan!’’ She squeaked it out, color flooding her cheeks when she saw him in the doorway.
‘‘I didn’t mean to startle you, but I didn’t want to interrupt.’’
‘‘Oh, well.’’ Mortified, she snatched up her cleaning rag, twisted it in her hands. ‘‘I was just . . . finishing up in here.’’
‘‘You always were a pretty dancer.’’ He’d promised himself he would put things back the way they’d been between them, so he smiled at her as he would a friend. ‘‘You always dance around the bathroom after you clean it?’’
‘‘Doesn’t everyone?’’ She did her best to answer his smile, but the heat continued to sting her cheeks. ‘‘I thought I’d be done before y’all got back. I guess the floors took longer than I figured on.’’
‘‘They look nice. Foolish already had a slide. Surprised you didn’t hear it.’’
‘‘I was daydreaming. I thought I’d—’’ Then she managed to clear her brain and get a good look at him. He was filthy, covered with sweat and grime and God knew what. ‘‘You’re not thinking of taking a shower in here?’’
Ethan lifted a brow. ‘‘It crossed my mind.’’
‘‘No, you can’t.’’
He shifted back because she’d taken a step forward. He had a good idea just how he smelled at the moment. That was reason enough to keep his distance, but worse, she looked so fresh and pretty. He’d taken a solemn vow not to touch her again, and he meant to keep it.
‘‘Why?’’
‘‘Because I don’t have time to clean it up again after you, or the bath downstairs, either. I still have to fry the chicken. I thought I’d make that and a bowl of potato salad so you wouldn’t have to worry about heating anything up when Cam and Anna get home. I have to deal with the kitchen after, so I just don’t have time, Ethan.’’
‘‘I’ve been known to mop up a bathroom after I’ve used one.’’
‘‘It’s not the same. You just can’t use it.’’
Flustered, he took off his cap, dragged a hand through his hair. ‘‘Well, then, that’s a problem because we’ve got three men here who need to scrape off a few layers of dirt.’’
‘‘There’s a bay right outside your door.’’
‘‘But—’’
‘‘Here.’’ She opened the cabinet under the sink for a fresh bar of soap. Damned if she’d have them use the pretty guest soaps she set out in a dish. ‘‘I’ll get you towels and some fresh clothes.’’
‘‘But—’’
‘‘Go on now, Ethan, and tell the others what I said.’’ She shoved the soap into his hand. ‘‘You’re already scattering dust everywhere.’’
He scowled at the soap, then at her. ‘‘You’d think the Royal Family was dropping by for a visit. Damn it, Grace, I’m not stripping down to my skin and jumping off the dock.’’
‘‘Oh, like you’ve never done it before.’’
‘‘Not with a female around.’’
‘‘I’ve seen naked men a time or two, and I’m going to be too busy to take Polaroids of you and your brothers. Ethan, I’ve just spent the best part of my day getting this house to shine. You’re not spreading your dirt around.’’
Disgusted, because in his experience arguing with a woman’s made-up mind was as painful and fruitless as banging your head against a brick wall, he shoved the soap in his pocket. ‘‘I’ll get the damn towels.’’
‘‘No, you won’t. Your hands are filthy. I’ll bring them out.’’
Muttering to himself, he went downstairs. Phillip’s reaction to the bathing arrangements was a shrug. Seth’s was pure glee. He darted outside, calling for the dogs to follow, and sent shoes, socks, shirt, scattering as he raced for the dock.
‘‘He’ll probably never want to take a regular bath again,’’ Phillip commented. He sat on the dock to remove his shoes.
Ethan remained standing. He wasn’t taking off a blessed thing until Grace delivered the towels and clothes and was back in the house. ‘‘What are you doing?’’ he demanded when Phillip pulled his sweat-stained T-shirt over his head.
‘‘I’m taking off my shirt.’’
‘‘Well, put it back on. Grace is coming out.’’
Phillip glanced up, saw that his brother was perfectly serious, and laughed. ‘‘Get a grip, Ethan. Even the sight of my amazing and manly chest isn’t likely to send her over the edge.’’
To prove it, he rose and shot Grace a grin as she crossed the lawn. ‘‘I heard something about fried chicken,’’ he called out.
‘‘I’m about to get to it.’’ When she reached the dock, she set the towels and clean clothes in neat piles. Then she straightened, smiling out to where Seth and the dogs splashed. She imagined they’d scared every bird and fish away for two miles. ‘‘This arrangement suits them just fine.’’
‘‘Why don’t you take a dip with us?’’ Phillip suggested and swore he heard Ethan’s jaw crack. ‘‘You can scrub my back.’’
She laughed and picked up the clothes that had already been discarded. ‘‘It’s been a while since I’ve gone skinny-dipping, and as appealing as it sounds, I’ve got too much to do to play right now. You give me the rest of your clothes, I’ll get them washed before I go.’’
‘‘Appreciate it.’’ But when Phillip reached for his belt buckle, Ethan jabbed an elbow into his ribs.
‘‘You can wash them later if you’re set on it. Go in the house.’’
‘‘He’s shy.’’ Phillip wiggled his brows. ‘‘I’m not.’’
Grace only laughed again, but she headed back to the house to give them privacy.
‘‘You shouldn’t tease her that way,’’ Ethan muttered.
‘‘I’ve been teasing her that way for years.’’ Phillip peeled himself out of his work-stained jeans, delighted to b
e rid of them.
‘‘Now it’s different.’’
‘‘Why?’’ Phillip started to slip out of his silk boxers, then caught the look in Ethan’s eye. ‘‘Oh. Well, well. Why didn’t you say so?’’
‘‘I got nothing to say.’’ Because Grace was in the house now and he couldn’t imagine her pressing her nose to the window, he pulled off his shirt.
‘‘It’s her voice that always got me.’’
‘‘Huh?’’
‘‘That throaty sound,’’ Phillip continued, pleased to be able to rile Ethan about something. ‘‘Low and smooth and sexy.’’
Gritting his teeth, Ethan pried off his work boots. ‘‘Maybe you shouldn’t listen so hard.’’
‘‘What can I do? Can I help it if I have perfect hearing? Perfect eyesight, too,’’ he added, judging the distance between them. ‘‘And as far as I can see, there’s nothing wrong with the rest of her either. Her mouth’s particularly attractive. Full, shapely, unpainted. Looks tasty to me.’’
Ethan took two slow breaths as he tugged off his jeans. ‘‘Are you trying to irritate me?’’
‘‘I’m giving it my best shot.’’
Ethan stood, gauged his man. ‘‘You want to go in head-first, or feetfirst?’’
Pleased, Phillip grinned. ‘‘I was going to ask you the same thing.’’
Both waited a beat, then charged, grappled. And with Seth’s rousing cheers ringing, wrestled each other into the water.
Oh, my, Grace thought with her nose pressed up against the window. Oh, my. If she’d ever seen two more impressive examples of the male form, she couldn’t say when. She’d only intended to sneak a quick glance. Really. Just one innocent little peek. But then Ethan had peeled off his shirt and . . .
Well, damn it, she wasn’t a saint. And what harm did it do to anyone just to look?
He was just so beautiful, inside and out. And God, if she could get her hands on him again for just five minutes, she thought she could die a happy woman. Maybe she could, since he wasn’t indifferent—the way she’d always assumed he was.
There’d been nothing indifferent in the way his mouth had crushed down on hers, or the way his hands had rushed over her.
Stop, she ordered herself and stepped back from the window. The only thing she was going to accomplish this way was to get herself all worked up. She knew how to channel her more intimate needs, and that was to work until they passed away again.
But if her mind wasn’t completely on her chicken, who could blame her?
• • •
SHE HAD THE POTATOES cooling for the salad and the chicken frying when Phillip came back in. Gone was the image of the sweaty laborer. In its place was the smooth, the gilded, the casually sophisticated. He winked at her. ‘‘Smells like heaven in here.’’
‘‘I made extra so you can have it for lunch tomorrow. You just put those clothes in the laundry room, and I’ll see to them in a minute.’’
‘‘I don’t know what we’d do without you around here.’’
She bit her lip and hoped everyone felt the same. ‘‘Is Ethan still in the water?’’
‘‘No, he and Seth are doing something to the boat.’’ Phillip went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of wine. ‘‘Where’s Aubrey today?’’
‘‘With my mother. In fact she just called and wants to keep her a little longer. I guess one of these days I’m going to have to give in and let her stay overnight.’’ She glanced down blankly at the glass of cool golden wine he offered her. ‘‘Oh, thanks.’’ What she knew about wine wouldn’t fill a thimble, but she sipped because it was expected. Then her brows lifted. ‘‘This isn’t anything like what they serve down at the pub.’’
‘‘I wouldn’t think so.’’ He considered what they called the house white down at Shiney’s one shaky step up from horse piss. ‘‘How are things going there?’’
‘‘Fine.’’ She gave serious attention to her chicken, wondering if Ethan had mentioned the incident. Unlikely, she decided when Phillip didn’t press. She relaxed again and let Phillip entertain her while she worked.
He was always full of stories, she mused. Of easy, even careless conversation. She knew he was smart and successful and had slipped into city living like a duck in water. But he never made her feel inadequate or silly. And in a cozy way, he made her feel just a little more feminine than she had before he’d come into the room.
That was why Grace’s eyes were laughing and her mouth prettily curved when Ethan came in. Phillip sat, sipping wine while she put the finishing touches on the meal.
‘‘Oh, you’re making that up.’’
‘‘I swear.’’ Phillip held up a hand in oath and grinned as Ethan came in. ‘‘The client wants the goose to be the spokesperson, so we’re writing dialogue. Goose Creek Jeans, fine feathers for everyday living.’’
‘‘That’s the silliest thing I ever heard.’’
‘‘Hey.’’ Phillip toasted her. ‘‘Watch them sell. I’ve got a few phone calls to make.’’ He rose, deliberately rounding the table to kiss her and make Ethan seethe. ‘‘Thanks for feeding us, darling.’’
He strolled out, whistling.
‘‘Can you imagine, making a living writing words for a goose.’’ Amused, Grace shook her head as she tucked the bowl of potato salad into the refrigerator. ‘‘ Everything’s done, so you can eat when you’re hungry. Your clothes are in the dryer. You don’t want to leave them sitting in there after it’s done or they’ll be wrinkled.’’
She moved around, tidying the kitchen as she spoke. ‘‘I’d wait and fold them for you, but I’m running a bit behind.’’
‘‘I’ll drive you home.’’
‘‘I’d appreciate it. I’m dealing with the car on Monday, but until then . . .’’ She lifted her shoulders and saw with one last glance that she had nothing left to do. Still, she eyed every nook and corner as she walked through the house to the front door.
‘‘How are you getting to work?’’ Ethan demanded when they were in his truck.
‘‘Julie’s taking me. Shiney’s taking me home himself.’’ She cleared her throat. ‘‘When I explained what happened the other night he was upset. Not mad at me, but really upset it had happened. He was set to skin Steve, but under the circumstances—they had a boy, by the way. Eight and a half pounds. They’re calling him Jeremy.’’
‘‘I heard,’’ was Ethan’s only comment
Now she drew a bolstering breath. ‘‘About what happened, Ethan, I mean afterward—’’
‘‘I’ve got something to say about that.’’ He’d worked it out carefully, word by word. ‘‘I shouldn’t have been mad at you. You were scared and I spent more time yelling at you than making sure you were all right.’’
‘‘I knew you weren’t really mad at me. It was just—’’
‘‘I’ve got to finish this,’’ he said, but waited until he’d turned into her driveway. ‘‘I had no business touching you that way. I’d promised myself I never would.’’
‘‘I wanted you to.’’
Though the quiet words caused his stomach to clench, he shook his head. ‘‘It’s not going to happen again. I’ve got reasons, Grace, good ones. You don’t know, and you wouldn’t understand.’’
‘‘I can’t understand if you don’t tell me what they are.’’
He wasn’t going to tell her what he’d done, or what had been done to him. And what he was afraid still lurked inside him ready to spring out if he didn’t keep that cage locked. ‘‘They’re my reasons.’’ He shifted to look at her because it was only right to say what he had to say facing her. ‘‘I could have hurt you, and I nearly did. That’s not going to happen again.’’
‘‘I’m not afraid of you.’’ She reached out to touch, to stroke his cheek, but he grabbed her hand and held her off.
‘‘You’re never going to have to be. You matter to me.’’ He gave her hand a quick squeeze, then released it. ‘‘You always have.’’
‘�
��I’m not a child anymore, and I won’t break if you touch me. I want you to touch me.’’
Full, shapely, unpainted lips. Phillip’s words echoed in his head. And now Ethan knew, God help him, exactly how tasty they were. ‘‘I know you think you do, and that’s why we’re going to try to forget that the other night happened.’’
‘‘I’m not going to forget it,’’ she murmured, and the way she looked at him, her eyes soft and full of need, made his head swim.
‘‘It’s not going to happen again. So you stay clear of me for a while.’’ Desperation tinged his voice as he leaned across and shoved open her door. ‘‘I mean it, Grace, you just stay clear of me for a while. I’ve got enough to worry about.’’
‘‘All right, Ethan.’’ She wouldn’t beg. ‘‘If that’s what you want.’’
‘‘That’s exactly what I want.’’
This time he didn’t wait until she was in the house but backed out of the drive the minute she closed the truck’s door.
For the first time in more years than he could count, he thought seriously about getting blind drunk.
EIGHT
SETH KEPT WATCH FOR them. His excuse for being in the front yard as the shadows grew long was the dogs. Not that it was an excuse, exactly, he thought. He was trying to teach Foolish not just to chase the battered, well-chewed tennis ball but to bring it back the way Simon did. The trouble was that Foolish would race back to you with the ball, then expect you to play tug-of-war for it.
Not that Seth minded. He had a supply of balls and sticks and an old hunk of rope that Ethan had given him. He could toss and tug as long as the dogs were willing to run. Which was, as far as he could tell, just about forever.
But while he played with the dogs, he kept his ears tuned for the sound of an approaching car.
He knew they were on their way home because Cam had called from the plane. Which was just about the coolest thing Seth could think of. He couldn’t wait to tell Danny and Will how he’d talked to Cam while Cam had been flying over the Atlantic Ocean.
He’d already looked up Italy in the atlas and found Rome. Had traced his finger back and forth, back and forth across that wide ocean from Rome to the Chesapeake Bay, to the little smudge on Maryland’s Eastern Shore that was St. Christopher’s.