by Owner
“Or mine.” She shrugged one of her gorgeous, toned shoulders.
“The place could’ve been double booked,” he grumbled. “And conveniently double billed.” That fact overly annoyed him, when it shouldn’t have. Not with the value-added probability of spending the night with such a beauty. But this particular beauty had a way of unhinging him.
“It may have been an honest mistake.” Kindness tinged her voice.
See, she was doing it already. The last thing he wanted was for her to sound so charitable. He wanted sexy, smoky, sultry, anything but nice.
He sighed. “Whichever one of us is in the wrong place is irrelevant at this point. It’s dark, and rain is threatening, and unless you drove out here we’re stranded until morning.” Hope sparked for a second until she shook her pretty head. No transportation.
He was dry-docked with a woman who looked like she was made for sin but had Good Samaritan tendencies.
“We may be here longer than tomorrow morning.” The lollipop slipped from her hand. “I forgot to ask Orrin about a return trip.”
For the first time all day she looked at a loss, instead of capable and helpful. Jon thrust his chest out a bit, which had nothing to do with easing the pain in his back. “I arranged with Wanda, the ticket taker, to pick me up in the morning,” he said, matter-of-fact. “I’m sure she’ll give you a lift, too.”
Maddie smiled, pleased.
He didn’t revel in the pleasing glow of her approval though. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a patch of brown that wasn’t drab or monotone. “Is there food in those bags?” He pounced at her grocery parcels.
“Help yourself.” She picked up the sticky lollipop from the floor. Unidentified grit clung to it. Following his dash into the kitchen, she plopped the candy into the trashcan.
“Where are the burgers to go with the cheese?” He held up a piece of imported provolone. It wasn’t white American, but it would do.
She shook her head.
“No red meat?” He rustled through the brown paper sacks.
“This is red.” With her lips pursed, proudly, she held up an apple.
His stomach rumbled a loud protest. He unpacked with the speed of a starving man, tossing a splashy array of colors onto the counter—blueberries, another red apple, green leaf lettuce.
“What’s this?” He looked at Maddie hopefully. At least it wasn’t fresh or colorful. It was in a sealed container.
“Hummus.” She had that pleased smile on her lips again.
He knew he wore a dumb one.
“It’s a paste of pureed chickpeas mixed with sesame oil.”
“Can you eat it?”
“Of course.”
“Maybe if I get hungry enough.” And maybe he’d eat the brown bag first. He tossed the hummus aside and shook out the empty paper sack, just in case.
No in case toppled out.
He ended up preparing several rather unorthodox grilled cheese sandwiches on rye bread with provolone, which didn’t really fool his taste buds.
She nibbled on a salad, her lips puckered and kissable.
Once his stomach was full, he let his thoughts wander to other satisfactions. Maddie, the violet-eyed siren, was once more an eyeful. By squinting, he managed to blot out her other, less desirable, girl-scout image.
Outside, the wind whooshed and a downpour pelted the roof. Inside it was drab but dry.
“That’s some rainstorm.” He crossed to the living area, unplugging and safely tucking away his laptop while at the same time making room on the sofa for himself and Maddie.
“Sounds like it could be the tail end of a hurricane.” She searched out candles and matches in the kitchen cupboards.
“Hurricane.” His heart hammered out the syllables.
He wondered if coastal cottages sank at sea. He’d just gained back some of the dignity lost on the boat ride over so he decided not to mention, yet again, that he didn’t know how to swim. Besides, she’d assured him that she was a strong swimmer and she’d promised to save his ass.
He’d already protected his computer and files, in the event he lived through the night, so had nothing left to save but his pride. He sprawled out on the sofa. Arm tossed nonchalant across the back, feet out, he tilted his head and gave her his come-over-and-straddle-my-lap look.
Heck, if he was going down with the ship, or cottage, the sea wench might just as well have possession of his body. Wouldn’t be much need of it when the hurricane was done with him anyway.
The power blinked and the lights went out. Jon froze, waiting for Maddie to light the candles. When she did, the drab browns and grays in the room took on an eerie appearance. The place was far from cozy or romantic.
So was Maddie. She wrapped herself up in the knitted blanket from the back of the sofa. Next she heeled off her very athletic, kickass sneakers.
Jon took off his shoes, slouched back, and gave up. Looked like the sea goddess wasn’t interested in wrecking his ship. A part of him was disappointed. Part of him relaxed. It was kind of freeing to be around a woman and not have to be witty, smart, strong, or in charge.
“What should we talk about until the power comes back on?” she asked, taking over whatever silence the storm hadn’t claimed as rain and wind shook the shutters.
“I don’t care.” He didn’t either. He wriggled his toes, cracking a few toe knuckles, and letting his worries seep away.
“Let’s swap secrets,” she suggested.
What was she crazy? He looked over at her. The flames flitted shadows across her face. Her eyes glittered. She was dead serious.
So he gave it some consideration.
Maybe because of their isolated location or the forces of nature slamming the building, but her idea took on a kind of fated appeal. Aside from casual sex, which from the looks of her blanket-wrapped body wasn’t about to happen, disclosing secrets was the only other logical explanation for two strangers to end up stranded with the intention of never meeting again.
“What makes you think I have a secret?” he asked in no hurry to commit to the project.
“Everyone keeps something deep inside that they’re unable to voice. Even to themselves.”
“That’s quite a theory.” He cleared his throat, but had to admit she’d put a ding in his framework.
“Are you saying you have nothing to hide?”
“Perhaps.” Suddenly, her secrets interested him. Maddie seemed to have something she needed to get off her chest. “It was your suggestion. You go first.”
“One condition. No problem solving. Listening only.”
No involvement. Now things had gotten even more interesting.
“Sounds implemental.” Jon nodded.
****
“I hadn’t planned on starting. Let’s see.” Maddie squirmed deeper into the fuzzy coverlet.
Along with the darkness, a dampness seeped into the cottage. The lap robe provided her warm comfort while the dim candlelight provided cold anonymity.
Between Jon’s apparent fear of water and his atrocious diet, his boyfriend potential had slipped to the bottom of her point system, while the idea of revealing secrets had grown. Strangers reaching out for one night never to interfere or see each other again held a certain allure.
But where to start? She didn’t want to come across as sounding whiney.
“The maternal side of my family is emotionally detached.”
Did that sound too clinical?
“And that’s a secret?” He cocked his head. “You’d better elaborate. How do they conceal it?”
“They don’t. They’re openly cold. Well, just my mother is cold. My grandparents are deceased now, but they were, too.” Good. She didn’t sound whiney at all. “When they were alive.” She sounded incapable of stringing thoughts together. “So I was told.”
“Oh.” His brow crinkled. “So who’s keeping it a secret?”
“That is the secret.”
With clenched fingers, she scrunched the covers up unde
r her chin. Not that she was any colder. Or any warmer. It gave her something to do other than to stab her secret into him with her fingernail. She certainly wasn’t getting it across by the telling.
“If they know and you know, then who doesn’t know that should know?”
She gripped the brown coverlet tighter, not sure which one of them sounded more confused. “I guess what I’m trying to keep a secret from my mother is the fact that it secretly bothers me.”
There. She hoped that was secretive enough for him.
“But if she’s emotionally detached she won’t care if it bothers you.”
“You have a point.”
Now Maddie planned to make hers. She let go of the blanket to flex her fingers. In about two seconds, she was going to poke each word into him and she wanted her full strength.
“But I see yours,” he said in time to save his butt.
Cute as it was from what she’d seen earlier.
“You do?”
“Yes, I think I do. We all want love and acceptance. Rejection by your own mother must be hard to deal with.” He moved closer to share her cover, pulling half over his lap. His thigh touched hers and had an unexpected sizzle.
“It’s difficult especially now. She needs help and won’t accept it from me. Her refusal hurts, and that’s the part I can’t share.” Especially not with anyone on Bain Island where a slip of the tongue turned whatever the first family did or said into slander. “Except, now, to you.” She sighed. By the softening in his brown eyes, he understood, at last.
He chucked her under the chin. “Of course it hurts, and we all want to hide our pain.”
“I’ve never voiced mine out loud before.”
His hand lingered and their eyes met, briefly, like a flicker of the flame from the candle. He held her rapt attention in his fingers for that split second. Their lips were so close their breath kissed.
Outside, the rain slammed against the door. Branches from a tree scratched the window. Something heavier, perhaps a porch chair, tumbled up against the side of the house.
He dropped his hand away. “Sounds serious out there.” His voice was low, respectful of the storm.
“It will blow itself out eventually.” She touched his hand. It felt warm and capable enough to handle the tail end of a hurricane, if that was what the rainstorm turned into.
“Is this what’s called a downeasterner?”
“A nor’easter. But they don’t usually occur at this season of the year.”
“That’s a comfort.” But he didn’t look consoled. His brows scrunched up.
“Don’t try to change the subject,” she teased to take his mind off the pounding rain. “It’s your turn to tell your secret. I have to admit it was a very liberating experience.” She felt like decades of weight had lifted from her. She’d never confided even that much of a tidbit to her friends for fear of exposure. Jon, a stranger, had been the perfect person for venting.
The wind whipped across the porch. The candlelight quivered. The corners of his eyes crinkled tight. She wondered if his anxiety was over the storm or his secret.
As he tucked the blanket in around them, he said, “I’ve got father issues. He’s an irresponsible drunk.”
“Alcoholism is a treatable disease.” Now she purposely tried to sound clinical. Somehow, she hadn’t expected his secret to be so personal.
“I know, but it doesn’t make his conduct any easier to take. His treatment of choice was to run out on his wife and kids. I became the man of the house at fifteen. I’m not complaining. Things were better without him around. I guess I’d like the old bastard to thank me for carrying his load.” His voice sounded bitter and old. Old from toting responsibilities that weren’t his to bear.
“Lucky you have big shoulders.” She reached out and rubbed his broad shoulders to somehow ease the pain. They felt strong enough. The kind of arms a woman wouldn’t mind being held in while she unleashed a storm of her own—one of pent-up sexual frustration.
“Yeah, well, thanks. But they’re not that big.” He chuckled and the heaviness surrounding them lifted.
“You’ve got bigger muscles than I do.” She flexed her bicep, sturdy from playing softball.
“Barely bigger.” He edged away. “Are you a lady wrestler in the real world?”
She unflexed. “I’m a physical therapist. And you?”
“I’m a—”
“No, don’t tell me,” she interrupted. “I’d guess you’re a desk jockey.”
“How did you know?”
She nodded. “Lack of muscle tone.”
“You have the bedside manners of a wrestler. Remind me never to employ you.” He shifted away, tugging more of the blanket with him.
She snatched her share back. “I suppose you think that accounts for why my mother won’t let me take care of her PT treatments.”
“Might is a scalable understatement,” he said but smiled into her eyes, and she felt scaled down. And needy and wanting. And him right there within muscle-melting reach.
“Tell me about your mother,” she asked, lost in his eyes.
“I managed to take care of her and my little sister. Although, my sister’s not little anymore. She’s twenty-one and about to have her own baby any minute now.”
Right now, Maddie wanted him to take care of her, but with his mouth and hands and…first things first. “What about your wife, or fiancée, or girlfriend? Do you take care of her, too?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Not even one girlfriend?” That news made her insides quiver. Her muscles wilted. Long suppressed sexual needs and wants surged. The idea of reaching climax in a man’s arms instead of with a plug-and-play aid thrummed through her.
“I date,” he added in a rush as if she’d doubted it for a minute. “I go out with your average blonde.”
Her curiosity stirred. “Define average.”
“Kind of like in the jokes,” he muttered.
She felt her hairs stand on end, every blonde-rooted one of them. “Do you mean blonde jokes?” Her bicep muscles twitched.
He hesitated. “Well, yeah. I date women who aren’t exceptionally brainy.” He had the good sense to look away.
“Why is that, do you think?” She let her anger ebb in favor of helping him.
He shrugged. “I never thought about it.”
“So dumb is your comfort level?” Her voice choked.
“Not dumb. Easy.” As smoke shot out of her ears, he hurried to add, “I mean the women I date are easy to please. A compliment, a piece of jewelry, an extravagant night out. Their problems are easy to fix.”
“Aha.” She raised her finger toward the beamed ceiling as thunder boomed. “Why do you feel you have to solve women’s problems?”
“Habit?” Confusion tinged his voice. Fear glimmered in his dark eyes in the dimmed light.
Maddie nodded. “I’d venture to say when the female involved isn’t a family member there’s no emotional investment in the problem solving either.”
“Purely physical.” Jon grinned.
A flame from one of the candles spat. The storm raged on.
Chapter Five
Maddie was about to rip into the clueless businessman when Jon edged closer on the rumpled sofa and said the magic word. “Please, forgive me,” he murmured. “My impression of blondes came out sounding insensitive.”
He looked sincere enough. His grin was gone and his eyes shimmered with concern, unless it was a trick of the candlelight.
She hesitated, trying to decide, but her exasperation won out. “I’m not the one you should apologize to.”
Pardon him or punish him. She gave herself room to lean either way. Right now, her hormones were urging her to lean into him. The warmth of his thigh and arm next to hers raised her heat index at an alarming level, warding off more than the chill in the dank room. His body was sending her love-starved one lusty notions. He smelled delicious, like lazy Sundays and musky sex.
Although, neither
one of them would still be here come Sunday—the part involving sex and tangled sheets tantalized her. She decided not to swat him away until she gave him another chance to earn extra mating points.
Even so, he did deserve some sort of reprimand. A mere elbow to the ribs ought to do it. “Oops.” She smiled, striking a blow for womanhood. And it had been a soft blow. The man should really exercise.
“Oomph.” He hunched, grabbing his side. “I’ve amended my thinking about them,” he assured her when he straightened up again.
“Them.” Reproach cracked her voice.
“Blondes aren’t needy and they’re smart, and—” He grinned, protecting his ribs with both arms like a boxer in the ring. “They pack a wallop.”
“That wasn’t anywhere near a wallop.” Maddie worried her lip. The man wasn’t in the best of shape. She hoped she hadn’t bruised more than his ego.
“Not to worry. I can take it.” He moved his arms away from his sides.
She nodded, sure the credit should go to the protective pad of his love handles. Which were actually rather tempting. She wouldn’t mind grabbing hold while having passionate, sweaty sex right here on the ugly brown sofa.
Bad idea. Even with points mounting in his favor in the sexual attraction department, overall he wasn’t her type. At the moment he was available, that was all. And remorseful.
No sooner had her inner turmoil eased than the commotion outside the door kicked up. Hardy gusts whipped down the chimney, howled across the porch, and rattled the windowpanes. She hoped the glass had been puttied recently or they’d become wet as well as colder.
Thunder crashed and lightning slashed, and Jon’s face looked ashy in the flickering light. “Sounds like outrage. I’ll bet my computer chips that hurricane’s named after a woman.”
“At the most, it’s only the tail end. But if it were a hurricane, and female, I’d wager on the name Blondie.” Maddie chuckled, poking her finger against his blanketed chest. “And she’d be coming after you.”
He took hold of her finger, stroked her knuckle with feathery, mesmerizing touches. “I guess I deserved that.” Suddenly, his voice sounded silky. And melting. His hand felt gentle. The kind of hand capable of taking care of a woman. In loving ways. Sensual ways.