by Diane Darcy
Her brows rose. “Did you say Kenna?”
“Yes. Stephen Kenna.”
“There’s a girl living with Mr. Wilder right now named Isabelle Kenna. Any relation?”
There was a slight hesitation before Frank audibly swallowed. “You’ve met Mr. Wilder?”
She nodded. “I’m his neighbor.”
“I suppose it could be Stephen’s daughter. The older one who works at the Veteran's Hospital. She’s living with Mr. Wilder?”
“Yes, that’s her.”
Frank looked uncomfortable, and worry lines gathered between his brows. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”
She adjusted her designer purse on her shoulder and smiled slowly. “Don’t worry, I won’t say a word. Now as it happens I’m here to purchase a necklace, and I’m hoping for a bit of a discount. Last time Mr. Kenna gave me twenty percent off. What do you say?”
He looked relieved, no doubt hoping a favor would seal her mouth on the subject of Stephen Kenna’s daughter. “For a returning customer? Let’s make it twenty-five.”
She smiled at him. “Thank you. That sounds perfect.”
~~~
Four hours later, Adam arrived in the kitchen at six o’clock and Isabelle lifted a pretty pink bag. “Dinner's ready.”
“It's all done? Do you need any help?”
Isabelle lifted an eyebrow. “It's turkey sandwiches, water bottles, and cut up fruit and veggies. Do you have a problem with that, Chef Wilder?”
“No. I just like cooking with you. I’m sorry I missed it.”
She couldn't help but smile. “Me, too.”
He picked up the bag. “Let's go, then.”
They headed down to the beach, grabbed the two chairs, and dragged them closer to the shore. Isabelle opened the beach bag and handed him his dinner. As they both sat back and opened the sandwiches, Isabelle dug her feet into the sand. “I love this. I feel like I'm at a vacation resort or something.”
Adam opened the baggie of grapes and handed one to her. “Your grape, madam.”
She giggled, took the grape and popped it into her mouth, taking a few more from the bag he held out.
As they ate their dinner and watched the waves ebb and flow, reaching their toes then moving back, Izzy sighed. “Now that I know this beach is here, you might find me trespassing. After I go back home, I mean.”
“Anytime.”
She wasn’t sure if it was the sun, or the way he was looking at her, but she suddenly felt warm all over. Her gaze dropped to the sand. “Where are the crabs?”
“They won't come out when the sun is shining. They’re most active on cloudy days or closer to sunset.”
“How often are you down here on the beach?”
“Not as much as you’d think.”
“That’s the way it always is, isn’t it? We don’t live too far from the beach, but I swear we hardly ever go there. We always go for the yearly carnival, though. Have you been?”
As he answered, she watched him talk and acknowledged that she liked asking him questions so she could stare at him. His dark hair only seemed to accentuate his tanned and rugged face, all harsh lines and planes. The jagged scar looked intriguingly masculine, giving him dashing and slightly piratical look. She wondered if it bothered him. He certainly didn’t seem self-conscious about it.
She studied his muscled neck, broad shoulders, muscular chest, and long legs. She raised her gaze to meet his--green and intense as he watched her examine him. When he smiled, she gave a quick smile in return and looked away.
Whew!
Her heart had picked up speed and she willed it to slow again. She placed her trash in the beach bag and held it open for him. After he placed his own in the bag, she dug out plastic grocery sacks, handed him one, then set the bag aside. “Are you ready to look for seashells?”
“Sure.”
They started walking on the shore and it didn’t take Isabelle long to find a shell. She picked it up. “It has a chip, but it's still pretty. Can you use it?”
Rather than take it, he held her hand and turned it to study the white shell. She felt electrified by his touch, breathless, and when he looked into her face and studied her for a long moment, she didn’t move; didn’t want to. His gaze dropped to her lips and her own fastened on his. Finally he let go of her hand and stepped back. “That's a good one,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. “Let’s see if we can find more.”
She was grateful when he turned away to search the sand. It allowed her to remember to breathe again, to let her heart slow to a normal rate. She placed the shell in the sack and continued on, putting a bit of space between them.
“Look at this one.” He held up a small shell, tiny but perfect.
“Nice. So do you do this often? Search for shells, I mean?”
“This is the first time since I was a kid. What about you? Do you have a hobby?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t really had time for much but work and school, cooking and cleaning. You?”
“Other than cooking, no. I've been busy these last years. So what if we did have hobbies? What would you do if you had the time?”
“Made-up hobbies for time-challenged people? I like it,” she said. “The next time someone asks us, we should be ready. But they have to be interesting so we don’t sound lame, and maybe general so the details are easy. Let’s practice. You first. So, Adam, do you have any hobbies?”
“Skydiving.”
“That’s a good one. Exciting, but simple. Put on a pack, jump out of a plane. If anyone asks about how it’s done, you can claim the instructor packed your parachute and you don’t have the details.”
“What about you? What do you like to do with all your spare time?”
She reached down and picked up a shell. “I take long walks on the beach and look for seashells.”
“Cheater.”
She laughed. “Fine. I like to read.”
“What do you read?”
“Good books.”
He smiled. “You’d better be careful with that one. People will want details and recommendations.”
“Not if I say steamy romances.”
“Depends who you tell. Some guys will definitely press you for the details.”
She laughed. “Your turn. But I already know what you’re going to say.” At his questioning look, she said, “Scrapbooking.”
He laughed. “No way. I already get harassed for the jewelry making and the cooking. My friends tell me if I wasn’t a Marine, I’d be a girl.”
“And that’s an insult, is it?”
He laughed. “I’m not touching that. Back to the subject at hand before I get myself into trouble. How about hand-to-hand combat?”
“While that sounds manly, and you probably know how to do it, it’s not really a hobby, is it?”
“Why not? I’m sticking with it. Your turn.”
“I’m out. I can’t think of anything.”
“You could use cooking. You do it a lot, right?”
“Yes, but it's always a rush job. Something I do rather than enjoy.”
“Okay, practice over. Let's pretend we’re just meeting. I’ll go first. Hi.” He held out a hand.
She shook it quickly and let go. “Hi.”
“So what do you like to do for fun?”
“Um…long walks on the beach. Reading. Watching romantic movies.”
“Oh, that’s good,” he says. “See how you were able to improvise? Now do me.”
She smiled at him. “What about you? Any hobbies?”
“Walking on the beach with you. Cooking with you. Hanging out with you.”
She lowered her gaze to the sand, but couldn’t help smiling. “While I like that, too, if you say that to someone the first time you meet them, you might have to use your hand-to-hand combat skills. Especially if it’s a guy.”
He laughed, his gaze warm and friendly.
She turned away to search the sand again. She really should put a stop to this…at
traction in a big hurry. She was starting to fall for the guy, but until things were resolved with her father, until her own life was finally on the path she wanted, she couldn't go there with him, or with anyone for that matter. But especially with him.
The only problem was, she wasn't sure she wanted him to stop.
Chapter Eight
THE NEXT DAY ISABELLE ENDED up working a little later than usual and, when she arrived back at The Castle, she was determined to spend the rest of the afternoon cleaning. She was starting to feel like a moocher. She could hear loud music coming from behind Adam’s closed workshop door and she stowed her things in her bedroom and looked around.
As neat and tidy as she was keeping the place, the vacuum marks on the carpet were new, and she definitely hadn’t made the bed in such a professional way. She went into the bathroom to find it sparkling clean and the end of the toilet paper roll folded into a triangle.
She went down to the kitchen, noting along the way that everything was dusted and clean. In the kitchen she found a ticket on the counter top that confirmed her suspicion--a housekeeping service had come and gone.
She leaned against the counter and sighed. She'd have to talk to Adam about that. She needed something to do. She needed to feel she was earning the chance he was giving her father.
She thought about going upstairs and knocking on his door, but she didn’t want to disturb him and didn’t feel like she could leave in case he did need her for something, so she headed into the living room. She pulled a bestselling thriller off the bookshelf, kicked off her shoes, and curled up in a chair. It felt strange to have discretionary time.
A couple of hours later, absorbed in the book and covered by a blanket she’d pulled off the chair, she was startled when she heard a voice. “I like the picture you make,” said Adam. “All curled up and cozy.”
Her head jerked up and she saw Adam leaning against the balcony overlooking the living room. “You scared me.”
Adam chuckled and turned away. A moment later he came down the stairs and into the room. He looked at the book in her hand. “One of your hot romances?”
She lifted it up so he could see the action adventure cover. “I couldn’t find your hidden stash so I had to make do.”
“Admit it. The book is really what scared you. It’s a good one, but reading about the monster at the bottom of the Mariana Trench isn’t for faint-hearts.”
“Hey. Who said I was a faint-heart?”
“You’re clinging to a blanket in eighty degree weather.”
“It’s the air conditioning.” She blushed, and quickly changed the subject. “You're limping more than usual. Is your leg hurting?”
“Yeah. Sitting behind the desk all day will do that.” He leaned down and rubbed his leg. “It'll loosen up soon.”
“Would you like me to massage your knee?”
He glanced up quickly and then slowly smiled. “Sure. I won't turn down an offer like that.”
She got up. “Sit here. I'll be right back.” She went upstairs, gathered lotion, a towel, and her courage before heading back down again, questioning herself for making the offer. She probably shouldn't have. But it was a way she could help him, and since she wasn’t doing anything else to make his life easier, maybe it would help her feel she was contributing. Besides, she’d been trained to do this. She was a professional and he was simply a patient. It was no big deal.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she took a deep breath and found him sitting in the overstuffed chair, an expectant expression on his face. “Okay,” she said. “Kick up the leg rest.”
He quickly did as she asked and she rolled the ottoman across the floor and sat on it, facing him. Hesitantly she folded his shorts a few times to get the excess material out of the way, her fingers brushing his warm skin.
“Sorry if my fingers are cold.”
“It's fine. Cold hands, warm heart, right?”
She raised a brow. “You hope. Now lift your leg a little.” She placed a towel underneath to protect the furniture from lotion, and he relaxed again. Very aware of him, she averted her gaze and emptied some lotion into one hand, setting the bottle down and rubbing the lotion onto both hands. Then she touched his skin, tentatively at first, then with a little more pressure. “Tell me if I hurt you.”
“It feels wonderful.”
Feeling less self-conscious, she applied a little more pressure and Adam groaned softly as Isabelle continued to rub in circles with her fingers, her thumbs, and the heels of her hands. She glanced up and was relieved to see Adam had his eyes closed and she was able to relax a little. His tanned supple skin and muscled legs, so different from her own, made her feel feminine by comparison. She was careful around the rough ridge of his scar, but when he didn’t flinch, she applied more pressure. About ten minutes later she stopped and sat back. “All done.”
He opened his eyes. “Thank you.”
Her gazed locked to his and she wasn’t sure if it was the intimacy of touching his skin, or the heated way he was looking at her, but seeing the admiring, possessive look in his eyes affected her. Her cheeks warmed again. She looked away, picked up the lotion, and stood.
“You’re welcome.” She lifted the bottle. “I’m just going to run this upstairs.”
“Hurry back and I’ll give you another cooking lesson. We’ll get something going for dinner.”
“Sounds good.”
Heart pounding, she hurried up the stairs to her room and carefully shut the door. She leaned against it for a moment. That had been a really bad idea. Her hands still seemed to burn from touching him and she pushed away from the door and hurried into the bathroom to set the lotion down and wash her hands.
She glanced up at the mirror and was shocked by her flushed face and sparkling eyes. What was he doing to her? She’d given plenty of massages in her time as a nurse. Touched plenty of men. It had never left her feeling shaky, with her emotions out of control. Had she ever felt this way around a guy? Not that she could remember. She took a deep breath and headed back down the stairs. She needed to get a hold of herself before she did something really stupid. Like fall in love with a guy who held her father’s future in his hands.
~~~
Adam was glad when Isabelle went upstairs for a moment. He wandered into the kitchen and rubbed his face with both hands. He needed a few minutes to pull himself together. Her touching him? Not a good idea when all he wanted to do was pull her across his body and kiss her senseless.
He patted his shirt pocket to assure himself the gift he’d made was still there, then opened the fridge and started pulling ingredients out. He’d planned to give it to her earlier, after the massage, but with his heart pounding in his chest, he’d been afraid he wouldn’t be able to pull off casual, that his emotions would show in his face, so he’d waited.
By the time Izzy returned, he was busy slicing scallions. She picked up the recipe and scanned it. “Scallion-lime shrimp cakes?”
“You’ll love it, I promise.”
“I bet I will. What can I do to help?”
“First, I have something for you.”
“You do?”
“It’s in my shirt pocket. Go ahead and grab it so I don’t get onion on it.”
Isabelle walked toward him. She hesitated.
“Go ahead.”
She cautiously stuck her fingers into his shirt pocket and drew out the necklace he’d worked on the entire day. When she saw what it was, she immediately dropped it back into his pocket, shook her head, and backed away. “Adam, no,” she said. “I can’t take anything like that from you.”
“You’re going to make me wash my hands, aren’t you?” He washed and dried his hands, then pulled the piece of jewelry out of his pocket and dangled the necklace by the chain from one finger.
She was still shaking her head. “A necklace? Really? That’s the last thing…I’m sorry, but there’s just no way I can accept that.”
“Take a closer look.”
She
studied his expression for a long moment, and he did his best to keep it neutral. “Well?” he asked.
She finally looked down to study the dangling piece of wood. “It’s beautiful.”
“And what’s it made of?”
She looked closer at the polished piece. “Wood?”
“Driftwood to be more precise. Remember the other night when you liked that piece of driftwood down on the beach? Remember the design in the middle?”
She looked closer at the polished piece, then up at him. “You copied it?”
“No. I didn’t have to. I went back and found it. Then I cut a piece out of the middle and polished it.”
“You went back for it?” She looked closer and a smile finally lit her face. “That’s amazing.”
“So, as you see, it’s just a piece of wood I sliced and polished up. And of no value at all. Now can you accept it? As a gift of friendship?”
“But the chain looks valuable.”
“Nope. It’s just a cheap chain I had laying about. I’m hoping it doesn’t turn your neck green. If it does, then we can put it on a string instead.”
“Oh.” She smiled shyly and cupped the tiny piece of wood in her palm. “Okay. Thank you. It really is beautiful.”
He was, of course, lying through his teeth. It was a really expensive, delicate chain he’d picked up earlier from Wilder’s.
She smiled at him and slid it from his hand. “No one’s ever made me anything before.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you. I love it.”
He cleared his tight throat. “Let me help you put it on. She handed it back to him, turned around and pulled her hair to one side. As he leaned in to place it around her neck, he breathed her in. His hand trembled slightly and he had a hard time with the clasp. Finally, he managed to close it and blew out a breath.
She turned around, straightened the necklace, then showed him. “How does it look?”
“It looks good.” It looked fantastic, actually. And he loved seeing it, something he’d made for her, around her neck. Being in the jewelry business, he knew that despite what anyone said, most men bought jewelry for women as a sign of ownership. She’s mine, it said. I’ve circled her neck, her finger, her wrist. But it was the first time he’d ever actually felt that way himself. She’s mine.
