ROOM...BUT NOT BORED

by Dawn Atkins

  She lifted her head and stared at him.

  He grinned. "What, you want to kick me out today? Make me sleep on the beach?"

  "I'm sure you have family or friends you can stay with."

  He just looked at her with those smoky blue eyes. She knew silence was a negotiating tool meant to put the opponent on the defensive, get him to blurt a concession, and she felt herself succumbing, maybe because Jake was disconcertingly handsome and so … naked. And his eyes seemed to see more than she intended to reveal. "You just get into town?" he asked gently.

  "Yes. I just flew in from London."

  "And, boy, are your arms tired."

  "Funny." Not.

  "Just kidding. You look beat. Why don't you get out of that monkey suit and get some rest? When you're feeling better we can talk this all out, calm and easy."

  She stifled the urge to point out that they had talked it out. She would stay; he would go. She'd give him a bit to realize she was serious. She didn't want to come across too harshly. It wasn't his fault Trudy had double-booked them.

  "Come on and I'll show you your bedroom." He took her by the elbow and helped her to her feet. She usually disliked men she'd barely met presuming to touch her, even casually, but this felt okay—friendly and helpful, not pushy—and he let go of her as soon as she was upright.

  She walked beside him to the short, narrow hall that led to two bedrooms and a bath, her elbow still warm from his fingers.

  "I'll move into this room," Jake said, indicating the guest room. What had been a tidy room, accented by lacy pillows and silk flowers when she'd stayed with Trudy, was packed with equipment—oxygen tanks and rubber scuba suits, big duffels, some with fins sticking out, a pole with rope hanging off it, possibly the boom of a sailboat, two more surf boards, one of which had a sail, and a stationary bike.

  How could anybody even find the bed, let alone sleep init?

  Even worse, the room was missing most of one wall. Through the ragged edge of Sheetrock she could see straight into the second bedroom and the rumpled bed where Jake must sleep.

  "There's no wall!" she exclaimed, turning to him.

  "Wood rot from a ceiling leak, so I had to knock it out."

  "How can we … you…? I mean … we can't sleep like this!" They might as well be in the same room.

  "I don't snore, I swear," he said, then read her face. "We'll put a sheet up if you want. And, relax, I won't bother you—no sleepwalking or … whatever."

  She knew what he meant by whatever and was a tad miffed he'd said it so fast. She was reasonably attractive, but he'd written her off like the dude with the surfboard who'd called her ma'am. She put her hair in a bun because it was efficient and it revealed her neck—one of her better features. "The sheet will do for tonight," she said firmly, ignoring the wound to her femininity. "And you can make other living arrangements tomorrow."

  "Check out your room," he said, ducking below the top edge of the torn wall and stepping over the baseboard. He offered his hand. She ignored it—she could climb into a room on her own, thank you—and joined him. The master bedroom was only a couple feet larger than the guest room, and held more Jake debris—personal items in cheerful disarray—swim trunks on the floor, T-shirts in a corner, a guitar and a weight bench. He'd really made himself at home in the three weeks he'd been here.

  Jake reached past her to pick a pillow off the floor, which he tossed onto the rumpled bed. "Sheets are pretty fresh—washed yesterday—but I'll change them if you want."

  "I'm sure they're fine," she said.

  "It's a great mattress. Try it out." He motioned at it.

  She flashed on the activities that would call for him to put the mattress through its paces and tensed. "I'll take your word for it." No way was she lying on a bed looking up at a mostly naked Jake.

  He bent beside her and grabbed a T-shirt and some shorts, his thigh muscles flexing, his trunks tight over his butt. Wow. Jake might act lazy, but there was nothing lazy about his body. Not an ounce of fat hid the muscles of his legs, arms and back, and his abdomen was corrugated, thanks, no doubt, to the weight bench. The fleeting image of Jake pumping iron turned Ariel's insides to jelly.

  Jake stood. She dragged her eyes away, but too late. He caught her staring and grinned. "I'll clear out my gear later so you can catch some zs. Take your clothes off, though. You'll sleep better."

  "I'll be fine," she said.

  He seemed to be disrobing her all on his own, so she crossed her arms over her chest.

  He smiled. You got me, his eyes cheerfully conceded.

  That friendly X-ray stare made up for Jake's earlier dismissal. Superficial of her maybe, but as a woman she felt better.

  "How about I make you a protein and banana smoothie?" he said. "You need potassium. Flying zaps your salts."

  "Thanks, anyway. I'm really fine. Sleep will help."

  "When you get up then." Jake left the room, taking up the entire doorway as he went. She realized he'd shrugged off the eviction like she hadn't said a thing. She'd rectify that later—be polite, but firm. Exhaustion and the undercurrent of attraction had weakened her usual resolve. She'd take a power nap and bounce back.

  Making sure the bedroom door was locked, she took off her jacket, blouse and skirt—the monkey suit Jake had called it—and slipped her bra off under her slip, which she'd sleep in.

  Removing her shoes, she carefully peeled down her silk stockings, pleased the sand hadn't damaged them. She folded them and placed them on the bureau. Then she collapsed onto the bed and shut her eyes. It felt so good to lie down. Everything would seem better after a nap.

  Jake's coconut smell rose to her nose from the pillow—pleasant, if too intimate. It was thoughtful of Jake to suggest sleep.

  She was just drifting off when she heard a series of bangs, clunks and rattles from the kitchen, which was so close in the tiny house it might as well have been in her room. Then came the horrific roar of a blender. Jake making a smoothie, no doubt.

  After that, someone pounded on the front door. She heard a kid's eager voice, a dog's bark and the scrabble of nails on the wooden floor. God. Her new home was close quarters for two people, especially when one of them was as noisy, popular and, she was forced to admit, attractive as Jake Renner. So much for peace. So much for sleep.

  Jake better find a place to stay right away, or she'd find him one herself.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  «^»

  Jack gave Rickie a couple of boards and some paint and promised to help him with the tree house tomorrow. Rickie had haunted the beach house from the moment Jake arrived three weeks ago. He was lonely and his parents were divorcing, so Jake had played catch with him a couple times, then introduced himself to Rickie's mother, so she'd know he was okay. Then he'd met the sitter—a definite dating prospect, which enhanced things considerably.

  He couldn't break away now, though. He had the bike to fix for Barry and he wanted to be around when his new roommate got up. He turned his CD player down a little, in deference to the sleeping woman, though he thought he'd heard her moving around.

  Jumpy. The way she'd barreled into him at the door showed she was wired for action. If she hadn't been so tired, she'd have had him packed and out on his ass right now. Despite her jet-lagged befuddlement, her knotted hair, business suit and erect posture spoke volumes about her personality. Gung-ho, no nonsense, maximally serious.

  He wasn't moving out, he already knew that. He'd given up his closet of a basement apartment and he liked having room for all his equipment in one place and living where he was working. Besides, he couldn't afford rent if he wanted the scratch he needed to fund his sister Penny's trip.

  He'd have to get Ariel comfortable living with him—make her life as smooth as the gearing on Barry's Guerciotti, which he was working on right now—so she'd forget all about him leaving.

  He adjusted the triple-gear unit, then spun the pedals. Much better. He liked getting his hands on equipment. That
was one thing he'd learned from his father, Admiral Shipshape—how to handle machinery. It made up a little for the commands and the regulations and the misery when he was growing up.

  His father better not be as hard on Penny as he'd been on him. Penny claimed not, but she was too sweet to fight back.

  That made Jake remember that she was planning to check out the beach house this weekend. Not a good idea with his landlord on-site. Having a teen guest—even one as smart and sweet as Pen—would definitely annoy Ariel Adams. He put down the bike and grabbed the phone to postpone the visit a couple weeks.

  "Renner residence, Jake here." His father. Damn. He hated talking to the man, hated that air of disappointment—thick as the slabs of beef his dad loved to grill in the back yard—that permeated every conversation.

  "Hello, sir."

  "Jake Junior, how are you?"

  "Fine, sir. Penny there?"

  "Yes, she is." Pause. Stern silence. "You haven't been to the house in two months."

  "I've been busy. Charters and a house-painting job…" He let his words trail off.

  "You owe it to your mother to present yourself from time to time."

  For inspection. Shoes shined, tie straight. His dad was Navy to his bones. "I'll come out in a week or two."

  "Saturday, the fifteenth? I'll let her know."

  "That depends…" But the last thing he needed was another argument with his dad. "All right. The fifteenth."

  The admiral was silent on the other end. He had something else on his mind or he would have gone for Penny. These conversations were as awkward for him as they were for Jake. "Made any progress, son?" he finally said. That was Admiral Renner code for settling down—having a real job, a wife, becoming a man with responsibilities, debts, burdens.

  "Every day is progress, sir," he said with a sigh. He'd be damned if he'd do anything in life the way his dad had done it.

  Silence. Then his father said tightly, "I'll get your sister."

  Why did Jake's heart thud after these exchanges? He was almost thirty years old. It was the shame in his father's voice. His only son was a footloose bum he couldn't brag about with the other officers, whose kids were in the Academy or the diplomatic corps or were lawyers or computer whizzes. He felt the shame heat his face. Ridiculous. What did he care what his narrow-minded father thought? Unlike his father, Jake enjoyed life. Enjoyment was not a duty, so Admiral Renner didn't make room for it.

  And as far as being footloose, that was something he'd learned as a kid, thanks to his father's transfers from naval base to naval base—Virginia to Florida to California. Jake had learned how to let go when he needed to. Now, when things got weird or dull or troublesome, it was easy to just leave.

  As a kid, it had hurt, being forced away from things he loved—the swim team, girlfriends, great buds, even teachers who'd inspired him. But he got used to it and it taught him to be flexible, open to new things that were just as worthwhile.

  Moving around had been tough, but that was only the launching pad for his struggles with his by-the-book father. Jake had never met a rule he liked, and he made sure his father knew it.

  "Hey, Jake," Penny chirped.

  "Hey there, Squirrel, how are you?"

  "Good. I got second place in the swim meet."

  "Terrific. Did the Admiral stop picking on you about your grades?" It wasn't until he'd left home that Jake realized that Penny might be paying the price for his rebellion. His parents were overprotective and kept her close to home, under watch.

  "He wasn't picking on me. He was concerned about me, that's all. Parents do that. It's a duty."

  "There's more to school than grades, Pen. Don't let him browbeat you."

  "Chill, would you? I want good grades, too. For college."

  "There's plenty of time for college. You have to live life." As soon as she graduated high school, he was making sure she got to spend a year in Europe. That was what she wanted, though she'd stopped talking about it. He'd seen the flyer on her desk when he was home at Thanksgiving—Study Abroad. See Europe and earn college credit. He'd asked her about it and she'd sounded so jazzed until she read him the costs. Then her enthusiasm faded. Too much money. She didn't have to say it.

  That was when he decided he would make it happen. He'd pay her way, arrange everything, including running interference with the old man. Jake would not let Penny suffer for his sins. As soon as she had her high school diploma, he'd break her out of the brig his parents kept her in.

  "So, I can't wait for this weekend," Penny said. "You can teach us to surf—I'm bringing Sheila. She wants to sailboard."

  "Um, that's kind of why I called," he said, hating to disappoint her. She asked for so little from him—or anyone. "We'll have to postpone the trip for a couple weeks."

  "Postpone it? Why?"

  "The living situation has changed. It turns out the owner sold the cottage and now I've got a landlord living here."

  "So, we'll bring sleeping bags and crash on the floor."

  "Not yet. She's a little touchy right now."

  "She? Your landlord's a woman?"

  "Yeah."

  "She single?"

  "Why does that matter?"

  "So turn on the Jake charm already."

  "I'll be lucky if she doesn't kick me out on my ass."

  "Does she have eyes? Ears? A libido?"

  "Libido? That is not a word you should even understand, let alone use."

  "I'm sixteen, Jake. I'm a woman. With womanly needs."

  "That's enough of that." The whole idea creeped him out. "You take it slow. You have your whole life to get involved in … that stuff…" He felt himself flush. Penny needed a solid guy who would look out for her, worship the ground she walked on, and only when she was mature enough to get serious.

  "Yeah, yeah, whatever," she said. "You sure I can't come?"

  "Sorry."

  "I guess Mom and I will rent movies or something."

  "Go out with friends. Don't let them trap you at home."

  "They don't lock me in a tower. If you're so worried about me, talk your landlord into letting me stay. What's her name?"

  "Ariel."

  "That's pretty. Is she? Pretty, I mean."

  "She's all right." Compactly built, with everything in the right place from what he could see through the business suit. For a moment, he thought of sleeping with her. Bad idea if he wanted to live here through the summer and maybe beyond.

  Sleeping with a roommate was a mistake he'd learned from Charlotte. She'd agreed they'd keep it light, just enjoy each other, but then she wanted to know where he was every minute, pouted if he wasn't home for dinner, acted like a wife, for God's sake. Then he'd hurt her feelings. He'd hated that. Why did women think they could change him? Why did they even want to? He was who he was and that ought to be enough.

  "So, why not … see what happens?" Penny said.

  "We are not having this conversation, Pen."

  "Okay. I just wish you'd find someone special so you'd stop hassling me."

  "I'm just looking out for you."

  "Then get me invited to the beach house."

  "I will. As soon as I'm sure I'm staying."

  "If she's a woman, you'll be staying."

  He wasn't sure how to take that and did not like his sister even hinting about his love life. "Do something fun this weekend," he commanded, then hung up, his roommate jumping into his mind. She'd be hot in bed, he'd bet—active, motivated, goal-oriented. Useful traits in the sack. Hmm.

  Nope. He needed Ariel as a roommate, not a playmate.

  * * *

  A puff of damp air blew Ariel awake. Had she left the window of her London flat open to the drizzle? She opened her eyes just as a wet, black blob snorted at her. Focusing one eye, she made out an animal muzzle and realized it was attached to the dog that had burst out of the house when she'd first arrived. Pleased that he'd awakened her, the dog pranced a couple of steps, then shook itself mightily, spraying water and sand everywh
ere.

  The reality of Ariel's situation came back to her like a belly flop in the pool of her stomach. Gone was the charming London flat she'd shared with Trudy, replaced by a cramped beach house jammed with water sports junk and construction debris. She picked up the sound of rock-and-roll playing in the front of the house and a woman's teasing laugh, followed by Jake's voice.

  The dog, poised near her face, gave a desperate whine—get up and play. When Ariel didn't move, he loped to the more interesting side of the house.

  She felt gritty all over—her skin, her hair, her eyes. It wasn't her exhausted imagination, she learned when she found sand on the sheets and pressed into the undersides of her arms.

  The fading light told her it was dusk. Woozy and not a bit rested, she looked at her travel alarm, which she'd taken from her bag when Jake's banging around the cottage woke her for the third time, and saw that she'd only napped for an hour.

  She looked at the giant hole in the wall between her room and where Jake would sleep. Judging from the lush sound of that woman's voice, Jake might have company tonight. She'd like to tell him no—the last thing she wanted to hear were erotic moans and headboard banging—but she wasn't sure she wanted to bring up sex with him in any regard. She'd only have to put up with his nocturnal guests for one night, maybe two, until Jake moved out.

  Ariel brushed off the grit, climbed out of bed and went to the bureau mirror to see if she looked as bad as she felt. Oh, yeah. Her hair had come loose from her bun, her mascara formed exhausted semicircles under her eyes and she had the indents of sand pebbles all along her left cheek.

  She felt something soft under her feet and found her silk stockings in a tangled wad. Clusters of holes and long runs decorated the delicate silk. She'd protected them from sand damage only to have that monstrous dog nose them off her bureau and ruin them. She didn't even have the energy to work up a fit of temper at the dog. At least she had a second pair in her suitcase.

  "Jake, don't," the woman called in a tone that meant don't stop. Feminine wiles and coy flirtation. Blech. Ariel didn't play games. If she wanted to sleep with a man, which she did from time to time, she showed him with a deep kiss, or responded favorably to his caress. Or she just plain suggested it. Why get silly about something so basic and human?