Jonas maneuvered his kayak so that he pulled up about a foot from hers. His dark curls had been buffeted by the wind into a bedroom-sexy mess. He pulled down his sunglasses and gave her a breath-stealing smile, blue eyes quiet and sincere. “I also like that you challenge me, Allie McDonald.”
She tipped her head coyly, heart fluttering. “That’s two things you like about me, Jonas Meyer. This is getting serious.”
“Is it? Two whole things?” He frowned. “That seems like an awful lot for someone like you. Too many, actually. Maybe I’ve gone over the edge.”
“You think?” Allie trailed her hand dreamily in the clear water, cupped her fingers and unloaded a nice cold spray on him. Before he could react, she dug in her paddle and headed back the way they’d come, giggling like a crazed fiend.
He followed, but where she expected retaliation, she got none. He couldn’t be angry over a little water. Maybe he was waiting for his chance. Maybe he used up all his playfulness the night before.
She turned to find him effortlessly keeping up with her. “Okay, okay. Score one for Allie. I deserved that. We’re even.”
“Yes!” Allie raised her fist triumphantly over her head. He pulled alongside her and they paddled much more slowly back to the beach.
“I’ll land first and help you.” Jonas slid the kayak up onto the sand, stepped out and pulled his boat farther up.
Help? Allie didn’t need help, she was now one of those expert kayaker women Jonas hung out with. She copied what he’d done, grounding her boat and stepping out into the shallow water. Easy, ha!
A wave caught the kayak and pulled, leaving Allie stuck with one leg in the sand, the other in a boat that was rapidly trying to move away.
She was not good at splits.
Just as she’d managed to get her second foot free and balance, he was there, strong arm holding her. Then his other arm came around her and he scooped her off her feet.
Jeez, overkill rescue. She opened her mouth to tell him she was fine, for heaven’s sake, when she found herself sailing through the air.
Splash.
“Oh.” She staggered to her feet, sputtering. “Oh, you are so going to pay for that. ‘We’re even,’ he says.”
Without thinking, she rushed him as if he were one of her brothers and splashed with skill born of plenty of practice, until he waded in farther to avoid the assault. Just a little farther, a little farther...
Perfect. She gathered herself and leaped, catching him off balance.
Splash.
His turn!
He gave a shout and struggled up, sunglasses knocked askew, and lunged for her. Ha! Amateur. She was already out of reach.
“You are good, Allie.”
“Five younger brothers.”
“Five!” He shook his head admiringly. “Erik did not train me as well as they trained you.”
“Are we even now?” She held out her hand.
“Even.” He took it and shook. “Though I am sooo tempted right now to—”
“Don’t you dare.”
He held her hand longer than was necessary, gave it a slight tug so she had to step toward him. “I like the tomboy in you, Allie MacDonald. It brings out...well, it’s great.”
“You’re going to give me a swelled head, Jonas Meyer.”
“I’ll take that chance.” He squeezed her hand, and swam back toward the house as if he said that kind of stuff to women every day.
Maybe he did.
But much too quickly, she was starting to want him to say those things only to her.
5
SANDRA EMERGED FROM her bedroom and headed for the stairs, smiling wryly. What kind of interesting new complications would crop up today? How did Erik spend the night? How would he react to Jonas and Allie this morning? Would he graciously bow out of the game or continue fighting for his uninterested lady? Sandra hoped he’d have the sense to do the former. A lot less messy all around. Erik hadn’t hung around long after Jonas and Allie burst in, but long enough for Sandra to see his pain. It was tough to feel betrayed by people you loved. She knew what that was like.
At the same time, Erik was denser than lead if he still thought he had a chance with Allie.
As for Sandra, she’d be fine. She was always fine. Life’s speed bumps—in her case molded by her own poor choices—might slow her down, but they never stopped her. Jonas wasn’t in love with her, would never be in love with her, and she probably never would have been truly in love with him. Darn it. He had it all—looks, money, sex appeal, money, charm, money, intelligence, money... She’d taken care of herself since she left her rebellious mistake of a marriage at age twenty-two, after sticking with it for five miserable years, mostly out of stubborn pride. The subsequent decision to live her life doing what she loved, even if it paid garbage, had been hers and hers alone, and she’d made it understanding the consequences. Unless she managed to marry rich, no cushy retirement in a tropical resort for her.
At the bottom of the stairs, her smile widened. She resisted the urge to rub her hands together and cackle. Who would be up this morning and what would the atmosphere be like in this very promising soap opera? It was ten-thirty. Jonas had most likely been awake for hours already. She didn’t know Erik’s and Allie’s schedules.
A glance into the kitchen showed Erik, alone, surrounded by white and stainless steel that reminded her of her mother’s taste. So cold, so uninviting, in spite of the wonderful cinnamon smell. Her dream kitchen would be all bright colors and cheerful pictures and cartoons on the refrigerator.
She smiled at Erik, slumped over a cup of coffee at the generous kitchen island, hair endearingly mussed. Tsk-tsk, somebody hadn’t slept well. “Well, hello, Erik. I see you’re a bright-eyed early bird like me.”
“Never miss a sunrise.” He waved heavily toward the coffeepot on the white counter. “The lifeblood is ready, help yourself. There are cinnamon rolls, too. Clarissa provided them. She’s our caretaker’s wife.”
“Ah, your caretaker. Is that like a babysitter?”
He rubbed his eyes as if his head hurt. “Ha ha.”
“I know, I know, I’m hilarious.” She poured herself coffee, glancing at him now and then, the great Meyer womanizer, not the arrogant jerk she expected, not quite. His type got lucky by being the nonthreatening buddy, the cute little brother. Then when women were lulled into feeling safe, bam, pants around the ankles. “Allie still asleep?”
“God, no. She gets up at dawn like my brother.” His grumpy jealousy was painfully obvious. “They’re probably starting their second marathon of the morning.”
Sandra shuddered comically. “It’s a sickness.”
“I’m telling you...”
“And what do they get out of it? Great bodies, good health, energy, long life...”
“Exactly.” He brought his hand down on the table. “Total waste of time.”
Sandra sipped her coffee, which was predictably excellent, pondering her next move. Talk to him about Allie now? Or stick with the small talk? Maybe she could do both. “So what’s your plan for today, Erik?”
“I’m going to show Allie around the property.”
“Uh...” Sandra gestured toward the cottage and beach. “I’m guessing she’s seen most of it.”
He gave a grunt of irritation. “Yeah, well, I’ll show her the attic. There are trunks of old clothes up there that belonged to my mom’s family going back generations. Allie is a designer. I told her she could have them.”
“Cool.” She sipped more coffee, judging him and the situation, then decided to risk it. “You like this Allie woman, huh?”
“Maybe.” He met her eyes, his so much like Jonas’s, but without that steady graveness. His looked ready to dance, though at the moment they were tinged with bitterness. “What’s it to you?”
“Me?” She leaned forward as if to whisper. “I’m crazed with jealousy.”
Erik cracked a smile. “Yeah, get in line.”
“I hear there is one.”
“Who told you that?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Guess.”
“Got it.” He held her gaze this time, his suddenly bold. “I like women.”
“Uh-huh.” Sandra sipped her coffee, annoyed that his macho act had given her a little thrill of response. She’d seen men playing this role so many times, she should know better. “So why Allie? What’s special about her?”
“You want to know because of how I feel or because of the way Jonas was looking at her last night?”
“What do you think?”
“Not sure.” He narrowed his eyes. “I haven’t figured you out yet.”
She snorted. “Good luck with that. Tell me about Allie.”
“She’s...” He frowned. “Different.”
“From?”
“Other women.”
“She used to be a man?”
“What?” Erik nearly choked on his coffee. “God, no.”
“How do you know?”
He was laughing now, looking much more handsome than when he’d been grumpy. His eyes were back to dancing. “Actually, you’re right. I don’t.”
“So you mean she’s different from your usual type.”
“Yeah. She’s not...” He pushed his hand through his hair, making it rise to new levels of bedhead. “She’s got this innocence about her that is really, really sexy.”
Oh, for— It was all Sandra could do to keep from making gagging noises. “Ah. You’re one of those guys.”
“What guys?”
She scoffed. “You spend your life screwing every woman you can and then insist on marrying a virgin.”
“Huh?” Erik stopped on the way to his next sip of coffee. “I’m not doing that. Am I doing that?”
“Sounds like it to me.” His dismay surprised her. Maybe no one had ever held his behavior up to him for a look. “Tell me more.”
“She’s more than just sweet and sexy, though. She’s funny and smart and sophisticated and ambitious. But also down to earth. Different from the girls I grew up with who had everything handed to them.”
“Oh, like you didn’t?”
He pointed at her accusingly. “That is not the same.”
“Because they’re women?”
His infectious grin spread. “Because I’m not trying to date myself.”
Sandra laughed. She didn’t see that coming. “Good one.”
“I had this fantasy that things would work out between us this week.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair, stretching mournfully. “But now, I don’t know. You saw how she and Jonas were looking at each other last night.”
“Hard to miss.”
“That didn’t bother you?”
“For about ten seconds. Then I got over it.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. Jonas and I are friends, Erik.”
“Yeah?” He stared at her curiously, and then got up. “I’m getting more coffee, you want some?”
“No, thanks.”
“Jonas knows I want Allie. They might be having fun, but he won’t do anything.” He filled his cup and brought it back to the table. “He leaves Wednesday. Then Allie and I will be alone. I could still have a chance.”
“Right.” Poor delusional fool. But then Sandra had been one herself, more than once. Exhibit A: Of course her parents loved her! Though they never showed the slightest sign of it and reacted to her wanting to marry a creepy thirty-year-old at seventeen not by protecting her, but by disinheriting her. Exhibit B: Of course her husband wasn’t abusive; he never hit her! Though he turned out to be a domineering, controlling jerk who made her life hell. Exhibit C: She wasn’t really addicted to amphetamines; they just helped her get through the day...
Delusionville. Everyone lived there sometimes. Erik would be particularly susceptible as a spoiled and somewhat clueless rich kid who’d never been set straight. God knew Sandra had encountered plenty of them growing up on the gold coast of Connecticut.
She got up and went to the kitchen window to see the property in daylight. Allie and Jonas stood by the lake on the private beach, water streaming off their bodies, faces close, laughing. Sandra smiled in spite of herself. Yeah, she was crazy about Jonas. Crazy enough to want him to look that happy all the time. Happier than he ever looked when he was with her.
She’d seen his dismay last night when he got a peek at his brother’s face. She’d heard the stories over the years, how Jonas was always sacrificing himself for family and friends. Look how he’d dropped everything to come here this weekend for Erik’s sake. Look how many times he’d come to Sandra’s aid with support, with a willing ear, with words of encouragement, and a couple of times with loans she’d paid off as soon as she could.
Jonas and Allie glanced toward the house. Their bodies seemed to collapse in on themselves. Their smiles disappeared. They started pulling the kayaks back into the boathouse.
She was seized with a sudden, absolutely brilliant idea.
Behind her, Erik was still talking, blah-blah-blah, about how Allie would settle him down, give his life purpose, give him what he’d been searching for all his life without realizing it. Not a word about what would be good for Allie. Sandra would bet Erik didn’t know her at all beyond his fantasy of what he wanted her to be.
Sandra would step in. Give Erik a new fantasy, and keep him out of Jonas’s way. In the process, she and Erik could get to know each other. Maybe she’d still have a shot at a life of comfort and security. She doubted she’d ever have deep feelings for Erik, but she was too old and too tired and too broke to hold out for true love.
And, if she engineered the next two minutes exactly right, she and Erik could get a little of their own back after Allie and Jonas’s giggly intimate entrance last night.
“I don’t know, Erik.”
He broke off his monologue. “Don’t know what?”
“I don’t know if Allie is the right woman for you.” She strolled toward him, oh so casually, knowing full well what she was doing and how his male pea-brain would react to her. She knew how to play the game as well as he did.
Probably better.
“What do you mean?”
She sank into a chair opposite him, leaning forward, elbows on the island counter, chin in her hands, pushing her breasts forward and together. Go on, take a look at that.
He did. What a surprise. One nervous glance, then another, less nervous.
“I mean let’s cut the bull, Erik.” She lowered her voice to a soft purr and slowed her speech for maximum effect. “I’m a sexual person. I love sex, I love everything about it, every position and every mood.”
He shifted in his chair and made an inarticulate noise.
“One thing sexual people can do without fail is spot other sexual people.” She held up her fist and extended her index finger toward him. “You.”
Erik stopped fidgeting. “Yes.”
“In the long term, we can’t be happy except with people like ourselves. You know what I mean? You and I, we want it all the time. Any time of day, any time of night. You say the word and―” she snapped her fingers, making him blink out of his heavy-lidded daze “—we’re ready.”
“I know what you mean.”
“So while Allie is... I mean I can tell that she is really fabulous. The kind of person I’d like to be friends with, too.” She slid her elbows farther toward him, beckoning him closer. He obliged until their faces were about four inches apart, Sandra gazing rapturously at his boyishly handsome face, Erik gazing rapturously at her cleavage. “But don’t you think that you, forever after, night after night, with a woman who isn’t dying for it every hour of every day...? I’m just saying.”
Erik’s eyes jumped up into hers with a fierce, animalistic expression sexy enough to scatter electricity through her.
Sweet mercy.
So that was how he landed his prey. Start with the boy-next-door charm, and get ’em when they’re hot.
He edged closer. Two inches apart. Per
fect. “I think I’m starting to see your—”
The back door from the porch into the kitchen burst open. Jonas and Allie stood in the doorway, right on glorious cue.
A brief and deliciously awkward silence. Yet again.
“Good morning, Jonas,” Sandra said cheerfully.
“Hi, Sandra.” He sounded dumbstruck.
“Allie!” Erik, not sure whether to attack or defend.
“Erik...” Allie, looking adorably bemused.
Ta-daaa! What fun.
This weekend was going to turn out even better than she’d hoped.
* * *
Julie: So? How is Mr. Hottie this morning?
Allie: We went kayaking. Frolicking happened.
Julie: Frolicking! This is starting to sound serious. How is Erik?
Allie: Sullen. Tell me I have nothing to feel guilty about.
Julie: Guilty? GUILTY? OMG, do not even start with guilty. The guy is a putz. You owe him nada.
Allie: Gotta go, Erik’s taking me up to the attic!
Julie: Tie those legs together, girlfriend.
* * *
THE CLOTHES WERE better than Allie had hoped. Much better. She was in heaven, surrounded by four steamer wardrobes. Inside each were stacked sliding drawers on one side and hanging space on the other. Erik had hung around hopefully for a while, but after it became obvious that Allie was completely absorbed in the silks, velvets, satins and sequins of fashion history and paying him only grudging attention, he gave up and went back downstairs, complaining that the attic was getting too hot.
Hot? There was a fan siphoning air out the top of the house, and with a breeze blowing in through the open windows at either end of the room, Allie found the spot perfectly comfortable if a bit noisy.
But then, with a treasure trove like this around her, she could have been sitting on spikes in a lake of boiling oil and been fine.
In the one trunk she’d gone through that morning, one of Grandmother Bridget’s from the 1940s, she’d found a fabulous array of suits in stunning colors—emerald, gold, coral—with feminine fitted jackets with contrasting collars and flared peplums. There were knee-length pencil skirts and A-lines that fell to mid-calf. Full-legged high-waisted pants, blouses with low-cut necklines and full sleeves with wide cuffs. Hats, scarves, furs...and gowns! Black satin with a full skirt and Queen Anne neckline. Turquoise silk with silver sequins forming a flame pattern cinching at the waist. Red velvet with an off-the-shoulder neckline, fitted bodice and a flared skirt. A gold strapless gown with a sweetheart neckline and matching full-length gold coat.
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