While She Was Sleeping...

by Isabel Sharpe

  He was getting way ahead of himself, daydreaming of a future together. Nothing he’d ever done before with other girlfriends, especially not within days of their first meeting.

  “I spoke to your grandmother.”

  Her eyes lit—cautiously. “She’s okay?”

  “More than okay. They’ve heard there was no damage to their condo. I left Melanie a note.”

  Alana frowned. “She wasn’t home? She promised to stay home just in case.”

  “Hey.” He kept his voice gentle. “You told me at lunch they were okay, remember? She probably thought it was safe to leave the house once Cynthia passed.”

  “Okay. You’re right.” She closed her eyes, shaking her head. “I’m worrying too much. Again.”

  “Don’t need to this time, I promise.” He pointed up the beach. “Want to take a walk?”

  She nodded and fell into step with him. Sawyer opened his mouth and geared himself up for a big fat lie—he hoped the only one he’d ever tell her. “They also said the roads are bad. Trees down everywhere, debris on the highways. They told you not to come yet. It’s still dangerous. Give the cleanup crews a few days to get things done first.”

  “A few days?” She frowned. “But I want to make sure—”

  “They’re fine, Alana, I promise. Your grandmother sounded cheerful and happy, as if she enjoyed the whole thing.” He turned, brushed hair off her forehead the breeze was threatening to push into her eyes. “It’s me that really needs you.”

  “Oh?” She tried to look suspicious, but a smile pushed at her lips. “What do you need me for?”

  He held up fingers to count. “Cooking, cleaning, mending, picking up my dry cleaning, giving me on-demand blow—”

  “I don’t think so, caveman.” She suppressed a giggle and took off walking.

  “Okay. Not that.” He caught up to her and grabbed her hand, swung it gently between them. “But if you ask me, what’s between us is pretty special, Alana. Maybe you don’t agree…”

  Her pause, all of two seconds long, seemed to go on forever. “I do.”

  “So?” He had to tamp down his adrenaline or he really would start with the leaping for joy. “If they’re okay without you and I’m not…”

  She pursed her lips, but at least didn’t reject him outright. “Did Gran say anything about her leg?”

  “I mentioned it, and she acted as if the injury were so minor I was weird for asking.”

  “That’s Gran. A total stoic.”

  Hmm. He’d have to pound that one home a little harder. “She said she’s back doing, um, everything she was doing before.”

  “It could happen again.” Alana bit her lip. “Did she say what caused the fall?”

  “She was bending over fastening her…footwear, when someone bumped into her. She promised to do all her footwear-fastening seated from now on.”

  “Oh, gosh, so her balance isn’t what it was. I’m really wor—”

  “Alana.” He stopped walking. This had gone far enough.

  “What?”

  “Bend over.”

  “What?”

  He pretended innocence. “What, you haven’t had doggie sex in public in broad daylight before?”

  She burst out laughing. “Geez. Listen to you.”

  “Seriously, don’t knock it ’til you’ve—”

  “Sawyer.”

  He relented. “Pretend you’re tying your shoe. I promise I have a point.”

  She rolled her eyes and bent over. It was all he could do not to grab on and experience heaven, but it was public and daylight and he did have a point. It took only a gentle push followed by a quick grab to keep her toppling onto the sand.

  “Wow, your balance isn’t what it was, Alana. I’m really worried.”

  She stood and glared at him, color high in her cheeks, eyes dancing. “Fine. You won.”

  “Not until you say you’ll stay. Then I win.”

  She exhaled, made a helpless gesture with her arms. He caught her in his arms and kissed her forehead, her cheeks. “Come on. Let me win.”

  She pretended exasperation, but her full, sexy lips were trying very hard not to smile. “Okay. If they don’t need me yet. A few days only.”

  “Thank you.” He let out a breath, pointed to a seagull perched on a beach towel, and when she turned to look, allowed himself a silent, high-fisted yes-s-s behind her back before he started them walking again to the north, where the beach curved and the best view of the city would rise behind them. “You have my camera?”

  “Of course.” She dug it out of her bag. “Hold still.”

  He put a hand in front of his face. “Not me, a picture of the city.”

  “I will. But I’ll want pictures of you, too.”

  “You’ll forget me otherwise?”

  She gave him a sassy grin over the camera. “In a heartbeat.”

  “What if you had me every day to look at? In the flesh.” He stood for another picture, hands on his hips, wonder ing how far she’d go, if she felt as deeply as he did, loathing his vulnerability as strongly as he was determined to keep her here.

  She took a step back, focused her lens. “What, you’re going to move to Florida, too?”

  “No. You’re going to stay here.” He smiled. The camera clicked.

  “You think so?”

  “Milwaukee is your home. Florida is torturously hot eight months of the year. Milwaukee is only torturously cold for four.”

  “Where did you make up those statistics?” She circled around him, taking more pictures.

  “I saw them online.”

  “Yeah? What site?”

  “Madeupstuff.com.”

  “Ah.” She clicked the lens again, walking backward while he advanced on her. “And Florida has cockroaches the size of New Jersey.”

  “Those are palmetto bugs.”

  “They’re cockroaches. Friends of mine who lived in Orlando had slimy slug trails on their living room walls every morning, frogs hopping around the house, crickets, lizards. When they moved, there was a menagerie of death under the piano where the cat had chased them all.”

  She stopped taking pictures. “Ew, really?”

  “I swear.” He made an X over his heart. She clicked the camera. “And there’s no bratwurst, no custard…”

  “No shoveling, no icy roads.”

  “Black ice. They have that. And horrible traffic.”

  “Year-round barbecues.”

  “No me. No us.” He lunged forward, stopped her walking away from him. “Only Milwaukee has us.”

  She kissed him as eagerly as he kissed her. The part of his brain that could still think remembered what her grandmother had said about her and Melanie being more alike than they thought. Beneath Melanie’s passion there must be a practical streak, because certainly beneath Alana’s practical streak there was passion. And how. He wanted to unearth all of it, push her to the border of what she could handle, sexually and emotionally. He couldn’t bear the thought of any Florida guy making those incredible discoveries.

  “Let’s take a picture of both of us.” She dropped to her knees, beckoning him to join her, put her bag on the sand and adjusted the camera until she could get the shot she wanted. She set the timer, hurried next to him, and slid her arm around him the same time he slid his around her and hauled her close, mugging for the camera even as his body registered how good hers felt next to him.

  She fit him. Better than his friends, his family, better than himself. She brought out the fun in everyday doings that he had lost track of, that he’d spent the past months trying too hard with too little success to capture after he quit his former life. Most valuably, she’d inspired him to look to his future with something other than pressured disinterest.

  Alana was good for him. Other women had been nice companions, pleasant lovers, but he never felt any of them belonged in his life the way he felt Alana did.

  “One more.” She reset the timer, posed again, then broke her radiant for-the-camera smil
e with all-out laughter when he tickled her. “Hey!”

  She brought up the picture in the viewer, studied it and handed the camera to him, her smile turned more serious. He looked. Shook his head, handed the camera back. “You ever see two happier people?”

  Alana looked again, biting her lip. “No.”

  “You won’t know anyone down there.”

  “I’ll make friends.”

  He shrugged, pretended to let it drop. He’d gotten her to stay another few days or so, and had planted the seed of forever. He gestured to the lake, to the greenery lining the shore, to the city skyline a mile to the south. “Take more pictures. So when you move to Florida you can take Milwaukee with you.”

  “I’d like that.” She stood for a moment facing the city, the sun heading toward the west for its eventual night’s rest glowing on her face, lighting her eyes, which were slightly troubled.

  It was all he could do to keep himself from saying it, and in the next second he forgot why he shouldn’t and gave in, throwing common sense and pride to the Lake Michigan winds.

  “Alana, I love you.”

  13

  SAWYER’S SUMMER PLACE was beautiful, nestled among firs, oaks, maples and birches at the edge of the small lake, which, with the surrounding land, belonged entirely to the Dalton/Kern family. The house was a cozy little six-bedroom—just the thing for a casual weekend away from their other cozy six-bedroom on Lake Michigan.

  So maybe she was a little awed and a little bitter. It was hard to imagine having this much room to move around in without inflicting yourself on anyone else. Not another house in sight; the lake, vaguely kidney-shaped, might as well have been in the wilds of Alaska.

  Which for this evening suited Alana just fine. How long she’d stay in Milwaukee before making the trip to Florida she didn’t know, but a huge weight had lifted when Sawyer convinced her to stay these few extra days…not that he’d had to work too hard to change her mind.

  How long since she’d taken a vacation? Too long. She’d worked with Grandad year-round, through summers, through college, then taken the week between graduation and starting her job in Chicago to move and get settled.

  “I’ll show you around.” Sawyer grabbed the cooler from the trunk where it had thudded back and forth during their hour’s drive from Milwaukee.

  “I’d love that.” She got out of the car and inhaled the warm woodsy air, slapped at the mosquito trying to welcome her to Lake Wishkitba.

  What would have happened if she’d decided not to come to Milwaukee, to leave Melanie to her own mess this time? She’d be in Orlando now, having just been through a hurricane. The outgoing manager of Shady Oaks Condos would have to cope with the cleanup, but she’d probably have been called in to help even though she didn’t start officially for another week. Instead, she was here, toward the end of a perfect day, in a lakeside paradise with a man who said he loved her.

  Loved her! When he’d said the miraculous phrase on Bradford Beach, she’d been paralyzed, torn between joy and shock so that she’d probably looked like a parody of a stunned person. Sawyer had laughed when he took her in his arms, told her not to say anything, that he’d been feeling it and wanted her to know. Again, the unflappable Sawyer, taking life as it came, though she could sense his disappointment. What would she give for that easy nature? If she’d been in his place and gotten no response, she probably would have hurled herself face-first into the sand and howled.

  She’d wanted to give him some indication that her feelings had progressed way beyond the initial thrill, too, but it was beyond her to make that kind of declaration. Not now. Maybe not ever. Even if this was the beginning of love—which was certainly possible, given that she’d never felt this way about anyone—it was love already doomed. In a few days she’d be starting an entirely new life. She didn’t want to do that with half her heart bound to someone she’d left behind. Long-distance relationships satisfied no one.

  A breeze came across the lake, bringing more forest fragrances. A chickadee hopped on a nearby branch, head tipped to watch them curiously. A squirrel scolded Sawyer for intruding on its territory; apparently it wasn’t intimidated by the Dalton/Kern dynasty.

  “Let’s go in.” Sawyer slapped a mosquito away from his ear. “Screened-in porch is a savior this time of year.”

  The house, shaded by trees, was decently cool. Unused in a while, it smelled of pine and a faint fragrance of cleaners and moth balls. The furniture was summery in florals and pastels, walls decorated with landscapes and occasional kid art, the kitchen any cook’s dream, the dining room informal chic.

  She helped Sawyer open windows. Then he disappeared upstairs to start the attic fan, which drew air inside and up through the house, soon replacing the unpleasant stuffiness with fresh grassy aromas.

  “I brought you a change of clothes and toothbrush.” He came back down, caught her examining a beautiful watercolor of the lake by a “Mark” she assumed was his brother. “I hope it was okay to go into your room back home and dig.”

  “Of course. You think of everything.”

  “I try.” He put his arms to her shoulders, kissed her forehead tenderly.

  “You know what I’d like before dinner?” She put a hand to his chest, loving that he was so physical. “A shower.”

  “Swim first?”

  “I don’t have a suit.”

  He grinned, lifting one eyebrow. “Private lake.”

  “Ah.” She’d act as if skinny-dipping in daylight was something she did all the time. “Okay, then.”

  “I’ll put some things in the refrigerator and join you.”

  “Let me help?”

  “No. You go have fun.” He shooed her out onto the side deck through the French doors in the large, airy kitchen.

  Alana gave in and started for the lake, wondering how she’d survive those first weeks in Florida without this man she’d only known a few days. She’d been sure separation would quickly take care of the feelings they’d started. Now she wasn’t sure at all. She enjoyed him so much—and being madly pampered wasn’t bad, either.

  She tramped down the path toward the narrow sandy beach where she’d have to get naked, peering around anxiously for stray hunters or nosy neighbors or armed psychotics.

  Nothing but tiny waves rippling the lake’s surface, a breeze that stiffened suddenly, keeping the worst of the mosquitoes away, and a small brown bird with a yellow beak hopping along the water’s edge.

  So. Apparently she was supposed to strip now.

  Okay.

  She pulled the yellow top over her head, folded and laid it neatly over a low tree branch, stepped out of her shorts, folded those and did the same. Glanced around nervously again, approached the water and tested it with her toe. Nice cool temperature; the air was warm enough this far inland that the lake would feel good on her stale sweat-dried skin, and the sun lowering in the sky was still strong enough to reheat her after she got out.

  So.

  Okay.

  She unhooked her bra, keeping careful watch for trespassers, and turned to her clothes-hanger branch when something caught her eye up at the house.

  Sawyer, staring through the French doors.

  Pervert.

  But knowing he was there keeping watch also made her feel safe. And daring. And yes, suddenly very ready to be naked.

  She took off her bra, twirled it in circles over her head like a cowgirl stripper, and let it fly. Lifted her arms over her head and danced in a slow circle, undulating her hips, swinging her hair, then added a long topless shimmy facing the house, pretending she wasn’t at all aware of him. For her next number, she covered her breasts with her hands and did a few boom-bada-boom moves, then slid fingers down and beyond, snagging her panties on the way.

  Voila. Naked. She turned her back to the house, caressed her rear in luxurious circles while performing a slow, erotic buns-out version of the twist, taking her down almost to kneeling, then back up. Not even glancing behind her, she tossed her head
and sauntered toward the water, hearing, too late, the thud of his feet coming after her.

  She squealed and started to run, splashing through the shallows; he caught up with her, lifted her around the waist and dunked her with him.

  “Argh!” Alana surfaced, dripping, giggling, energized by the cold. “Why you—”

  She lunged and tackled him around the waist, scoring a direct hit and rewarded with his collapse into the water. She swam away, then around in a circle. He came up grinning, flung his head to the side to get hair off his face. “What were you trying to do with that striptease? Kill me?”

  “Gee, Sawyer, I had no idea you were watching.”

  He splashed her in punishment. She giggled and dove under, feeling as if she were starring in one of those falling-in-love montages from a chick flick. Couple in a romantic French bistro, couple taking pictures along the beach, couple laughing and splashing naked in a lake. Later, couple in bed, making love.

  Falling in love.

  It could happen for her, too. It might have already. Right now, dripping wet and high on life, she cared less and less about stopping it anymore.

  They swam for a while longer until hunger drove them back inside and into the shower. Scrubbed and shampooed and refreshed, she dragged on one of his T-shirts over clean panties and left her wardrobe change at that on his request, feeling sexy and comfortable and as if bliss was her new inseparable best friend.