Sisters of Spirit, Pure Romance Set

by Nancy Radke

  “Boston?” His voice sounded unnaturally harsh.

  “Yes?”

  “I wish... I wish that... Oh, forget it.”

  What did he wish? She looked expectantly at him, but he moved away, seemingly intent upon putting the cup and saucer into the sink. She hesitated a second longer, then entered the small bathroom to dress.

  What had Zack been trying to say? If he had not given his word, would he have tried to make love to her? He looked torn between desire and frustration. Or was it simply frustration over having her close, but unattainable? Did their closeness affect him, as much as it did her?

  Or was he wishing she was off the boat, gone out of his life and no longer a nuisance? That was more likely.

  If only he wasn’t so against her designing the interiors on this house. His refusal over-shadowed everything they did. His assumption that she should give way to his “expertise” was beginning to slacken, but he still treated her like she was helpless and incapable.

  In spite of Zack’s rubdown, she couldn’t lift her arms above shoulder level. Her clothes were a struggle to put on. And her hair was impossible to handle.

  She took one horrified look in the mirror at the orphaned waif with uncombed hair and pale face, and bewailed ever regaining her dignity while on the island.

  It was just not to be.

  She could forget about using any female wiles to entice Zack into letting her remain on the island. The way she looked, he’d be immune to anything she said or did.

  Hobbling back into the main cabin, Jennel gave a sheepish smile. “It takes longer when you can’t lift your arms.”

  He grinned, a lopsided, knowing grin that lit his perceptive eyes, and cocked one eyebrow with a suggestion of mischief. “I would’ve helped you! Gladly.”

  “No, thanks,” she muttered with a small laugh. “I’m finished. Except for my hair. That you’ll have to do. There’s no way I can braid it.”

  With a wave of his hand, he dismissed her loose hair entirely. “Leave it. It’s fine. Let’s eat.” That seemed to be the all-important item for the moment, so she joined him at the table.

  She couldn’t figure him out. Last night he had demanded she braid her hair immediately, even though she was soon going to bed. This morning he said it was fine. Puzzled at his contradictory nature, she picked up her fork.

  Toast and eggs, bacon, orange juice, milk. He put away three times as much as she, and she was eating more than normal. Usually she wouldn’t touch fried eggs, but the salt air made her hungry. She enjoyed the simple act of breakfasting together, the shared meal making her heart zing with buoyant happiness.

  When they were finished Zack picked up her hairbrush and motioned her to sit down in front of him. She did, settling her back against his legs.

  The long sweeping strokes, like the touch of a lover, evoked the extremely powerful sensation of being endlessly caressed. Stroking, slowly and steadily, over and over, leaving her defenses puddled around her feet.

  Jennel closed her eyes in pleasure. Her heartbeat quickened in response to the touch of Zack’s hand as it brushed against her neck and shoulders, separating the strands. She could sit all day under his spell.

  Zack felt his whole body react as the black silk of her tresses flowed through the brush and across his fingers. The effort needed to complete each stroke was unexpectedly exciting, the whole act heightened because Jennel was almost sleepily acquiescent, murmuring her pleasure at each stroke, like a woman responding to a lover. He had wanted to touch her hair again, but was unprepared for the immense wave of emotion that engulfed him. He caught his breath to keep from crying out her name, from pulling her head back to where her sensitive lips could meet his. Lips so inviting, so tempting...

  She shifted her body to snuggle closer against his shins, and he had to forcibly restrain himself from taking her in his arms and making love to her. Her hair, now spread like a veil across his bare thighs, was the most arousing contact he had ever experienced. One would think he’d been out of circulation for years to react so strongly to her.

  Her hair was an extension of her nature. So soft and yielding, yet firm, and liable to tangle and be difficult if handled wrong. Would he be able to untangle the snarls of their relationship? To protect and care for her. To love her?

  Love? Was that the right word? How could he be falling for a woman who stubbornly resisted all his helpful suggestions? Had her near miss with the tree aroused his protective nature to the point that he imagined he was falling for her? How did you know when you were really in love with someone?

  He played the field, dating plenty of women, but not ready to make any commitments. He’d had an overload of responsibility while he was growing up. Yet the protective habit proved hard to break, especially with one so beautiful, so entrancing, so...so able to cause complete havoc in his life.

  Jennel was completely unaware of the precautions an island resident took as natural. She was a true “babe in the woods.” She’d be much safer in Seattle, more in her element.

  He had to get her off the island. But once off, would she stay away? Or would she rent a boat and run over the treacherous rocks that lay just beneath the surface? Get flipped by a rip tide or run over by a ferryboat? Perhaps it would be better to keep her with him while he was here, where he could watch over her, giving himself time to see if what he felt really was love.

  You’re just making excuses, he told himself. Don’t forget Tony’s wife. Don’t forget what she did to him. Don’t let it happen to you. Get her out of here.

  Another part of his mind argued back.

  Keep her around as long as you can. Once she’s gone, you’re going to regret it. She might not be like Tony’s wife, after all. Give her a chance.

  He had to do something, soon. Jennel distracted him so much he couldn’t keep his mind on his job. Every second was filled with thoughts of her, awake and asleep. Already he was uncertain if he could let her go back to Boston without following her.

  After prolonging the moment until he could no longer find any justification to continue, Zack set the brush aside. This time he didn’t braid the black shining tresses, but let them fall free like flowing velvet.

  While Jennel cleaned off the table and slowly straightened up the sleeping area, Zack called his foreman, Jeff, to see how much longer he needed to finish their last project. Satisfied with the progress Jeff was making, Zack set up his sloping architect’s table, trying not to notice the way Jennel’s hair fell softly around her.

  Whistling softly, he began to work on the plans. First, roughly sketching in ideas, then putting in a workroom and sitting room for Mrs. Van Chattan. By moving a window and shifting a door over, he could put the two on the main floor where Jennel suggested. Then he sketched an alternate plan, making the sitting room larger and moving the workroom and display cabinets upstairs to the second floor.

  Maybe if he showed her he was willing to accept some of her ideas, she’d stop fighting every suggestion he made.

  “Ah, yes, she’d love that,” Jennel agreed when he showed her the second sketch. “There wasn’t really enough room on the main floor—and you’ve solved the window problem.”

  Zack glowed with pleasure at her words, unduly touched by her simple words of praise. “I’ll express mail these back to Van Chattan and ask him to get together with his wife immediately so we can get this settled. If you’ll do some elevations, I’ll send them along, too. If they want the first plan I’ll have to run it past the building inspector for an okay on the changes. The second won’t require any structural changes at all.”

  Jennel eyed him thoughtfully as he sat with his injured leg stretched out, looking relaxed and at peace with the world.

  Would he still try to get rid of her, even if the Van Chattan’s wanted her work? Probably. Men didn’t like women taking over their territory. This was his turf. He was here first. Would he “pay her off” and demand that she leave? What if she refused? After all, she was working for Mrs. Van Chattan
.

  But would she still be working after Zack sent the changes? If Mr. Van Chattan knew nothing of his wife’s hiring Jennel, would he—could he—refuse to pay her?

  Bother, bother, bother! It was terrible when your livelihood depended upon the whim of a person you’d never met! She’d like to try to call them this morning, but didn’t want to talk about things with Zack hanging over her shoulder.

  Worrying never helped anything, so Jennel shelved the unpleasant thoughts and sat down at the main table to design the new rooms. The nagging fear hovered in the back of her mind until she became immersed in ideas.

  It took her longer than usual to get into her work. Zack was moving about, feeding Brutus and radioing his crews. Jennel usually could achieve total concentration in the middle of a riot, but found it hard to block him out. She wanted to watch his every move, to memorize him, so when she was forced to leave, she’d have total recall.

  The way he moved, with the supple grace of confidence. The way he stood, relaxed, yet balanced, as if prepared for a sudden change in course. And the musical rhythm of his low voice...when he wasn’t yelling at her!

  She was still doodling when he turned again to his drawing board, but as he began to turn his sketches into complete floor plans, she stole one last look at him and got down to work. Doggedly, she sketched several ideas for each room, putting in the display cases, a workbench and some storage areas for the many doll parts.

  Concentration finally came, and she sketched rapidly, ideas flowing from her fingers as she tried to keep up with each new thought. The papers piled up in haphazard fashion, some even gliding onto the floor.

  “Hey! Hey, Boston!” The voice was low, amused but insistent, and she jerked back, startled at the intrusion, her surroundings bursting back in on her.

  “Oh! What?”

  Zack regarded her with good-natured amusement. “You really submerge. How about coming up for lunch?”

  “Lunch? Surely it can’t be...?” But it was, as a glance at her watch revealed. Actually, it was well past the lunch hour. Glancing around dazedly, she let out a long sigh and laid down her pencil.

  Carefully he picked up her sketches and tried to put them in some sort of order, studying each one with genuine interest. “You’re a very prolific worker, Boston. Now I see how my plans got shuffled. It’s a wonder you kept them as orderly as you did.”

  “Ummm...yes.” Jennel tried to stretch but couldn’t. She was stiff as an ink eraser. Again. Her back was locked into a bent position.

  Zack regarded her quizzically, as if taking stock of some new thing, a wry smile flickering over his ruggedly handsome features. “I’ve been watching you for the past five minutes, and you were completely oblivious. You have pen streaks on your face,” he commented amusedly.

  That was normal. “Where?”

  “Here.” His gentle touch to her lip was almost a shock. The jolt she received was a physical reality she felt all the way down her spine. “And here.” He brushed across the tip of her nose. Another shock, but not so great.

  The charge of sensual electricity caught her off balance, unprepared. She was never mentally braced when she came out of her working “trance.” The touch hadn’t seemed to affect him. Did he know what he had done to her unguarded senses? His smiling gaze revealed nothing more than genial interest.

  Resting her elbows on the tabletop, Jennel gave her lips and nose a rough rub, successfully erasing the unsettling sensations. Since she couldn’t lift her arms, she ducked her head to meet her hands. It gave her time to catch her breath, as well as dull that powerful sparking of electricity generated by the casual contact.

  She’d heard it said, and now recognized the warnings as proper: living closely together could create problems. Zack would be easy to fall for, and she’d end up with a broken heart, for she refused to get involved with someone who didn’t accept her and encourage her abilities. Her school counselor had belittled her artistic talents, saying she was wasting her time and should train for a computer job. Until Zack allowed her to remain on the island and do the work she’d been hired to do, she would not feel totally accepted by him.

  She had to keep her distance, but it was hard. The boat projected a close, secure atmosphere, a secret meeting place for lovers, safe from prying eyes. With its soft lighting, continual rocking motion and sleeping area enclosed like a giant cocoon, it had an aura of romance. Like framing a picture, the boat’s atmosphere encased them in a scene keyed toward love and tenderness. A scene that would probably not last when the frame was changed.

  With stiff, jerky movements, she managed to tilt forward off the seat, but couldn’t stand straight, frozen into the sitting position. She didn’t really want Zack to touch her again—not until she’d had a long talk with herself about self-control and the power of emotions—but knew she wasn’t even going to duck-waddle very far in this ridiculous position!

  At that thought her imagination took off, and she chuckled to herself. It was time for another rubdown.

  “Zack...?” she pleaded.

  No explanations were needed. He’d been watching her, trying not to laugh out loud, the roguish grin she’d come to watch for kicking up at the corners of his mouth as he saw her laughing at herself.

  “Lie down.” He was enjoying himself. She could hear it in his voice, vibrant with dry humor, and see it in the slow shake of his head. He was lighthearted today, quite likable in fact.

  Waggling her hands in agreement since her shoulders wouldn’t shrug, she flopped, willingly, face down on the seat cushions. With a flourish he whisked up her T-shirt, unhooked her bra and layered on the penetrating liniment. His hands felt steady, impersonal...and Jennel relaxed. No shocks this time, just pain.

  “Ummm,” she purred in utter contentment. It felt so good, the tension and sore- ness slowly leaving.

  Then it happened again.

  To put liniment on her shoulders, he moved her hair aside, lifting it away from her neck. The whisper-light touch of his fingers in passing sent another lightening charge all the way down her spine and she tensed tight from head to toe.

  “Relax,” he demanded tersely, but how could she? As his hands moved across her skin, the stroking changed into a caress, an invitation to love, and desire flared through her. Did he realize what he was doing? He must have.

  The overwhelming man-woman attraction was as old as time. She’d been drawn to Zack from the start, but had successfully resisted her feelings. Or so she’d thought. He was being so chivalrous today, so cheerful and warm and thoughtful. It was impossible to resist his charm. How was she going to keep herself under control and him at a distance when he acted like this?

  Then even as her foolish body began to yield, purring like a stroked cat, Zack began a stronger massage, hard enough to nullify the former sensations.

  Proximity. Jennel sternly tried to convince herself that that was all it was. They were too close in this small cabin. Thrown together like this, they would end up either hating or loving each other; and all because of propinquity.

  “I like your work,” he admitted as he worked his magic down each arm and out into her stiff fingers, stripping each one of tension. “You’ve a fine, delicate line and a good eye for detail. Your furniture and room stay in proportion. Best, your ideas are good. They’re workable and adaptable.”

  “Thank you.” Wow! High praise from Zack the perfectionist! Maybe he wasn’t such a beast after all...or maybe the proximity was getting to him, too.

  “I’ve never seen anyone produce so fast. Do you always work like a deadline has passed or was that just for my benefit?”

  “Always. I can’t keep up with my ideas.” She wasn’t trying to impress him with her speed, just with her final work—and her own competence—so he’d let her stay.

  “That’s a tiring way of working.”

  “I relax afterward, although not usually with a massage. This is real service.”

  “You haven’t heard what I charge.” He re-hooked her an
d helped her sit up, a crooked grin crossing his face so that she didn’t take his dry teasing too seriously.

  “I thought it was free.”

  “It is sometimes—and sometimes not,” he warned, his darkly gleaming eyes challenging her to make what she wanted to of that statement.

  “How do I know...which time is which?”

  “You don’t. Feel better?”

  “Yes, definitely.” Even her fingers felt relaxed and rested. The man was a marvel. She should hire him permanently.

  “Then let’s eat.”

  “Is it ready, already?”

  “Yes.”

  “I should be fixing some of the meals. I’m sorry.” She was. He shouldn’t be feed- ing her all the time. If she was going to prove how self-sufficient she was, she should at least be cooking half the meals for the two of them.

  “I agree, your cooking shouldn’t be wasted. But a pan of soup is easy, and that’s all I made.”

  “I’ll fix supper tonight,” she promised determinedly.

  “Okay...if you’re still here.” He glanced out the window. “The fog seems to be clearing up.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “‘Oh, good,’ you mean. I’ve got to keep my crew busy. Once my foreman finishes his other job, he’s going to come here and wonder what I’ve been up to, dragging my feet. I can’t ask for speedy results from him and not do the same myself.”

  “But I need to finish—” Her anguish was evident, she had never fully mastered the art of dissimulation.

  “At the speed you work, you’ll make it. If not, mail them back. Better yet, send them directly to Mrs. Van Chattan and insist she take them to her husband.

  “But what if she doesn’t?”

  Zack shrugged. “Wait and see.”

  That was hard to do. Still, with her muscles relaxed, Jennel felt like a new person. She cleared away her papers, then poured tea while Zack set the bowls, pan of chicken soup and sack of crackers in the center. They were both hungry and ate their first bowl in silence.