by Nancy Radke
Charmed by his manner, she smiled in response. “Yes. Much better. Thank you.”
“I’m sorry that I hurt you,” he said, his voice apologetic. “I didn’t want to. But, you see, those cuts had to be cleaned completely, or we’d be making an emergency visit to the hospital. I hope I got them clean.”
“Me, too!” A fleeting grin acknowledged her comment. “It’s easy to get blood poisoning, and those cuts were filthy from that floor. Stay lying down tomorrow and keep your feet elevated.”
Even though his request was reasonable, Jennel started to bristle at being told what to do. Then she checked herself. She needed to get her feet healed so she could work. “Okay.”
“There’s nothing you can do while I’m overseeing the cable laying, so stay in the boat where it’s clean and give them a chance to heal.”
It made sense, plus it would keep her out of his way. “I will,” she promised, squelching her defiant emotions. “Good night, Zack. And thanks for the rescue.”
“Don’t mention it. I do it every day.”
Liar! She smiled, then stiffened as she heard him mutter one last thing as he turned out the light and climbed into his bag, so close to hers. “Pink lace! Of all things!”
“What’s wrong with pink?” she challenged without thinking. “It happens to be my favorite color.”
“Really?” His puzzled voice carried clearly in the darkness.
“Yes.”
“Do you use it a lot?” He sounded totally amazed.
“Quite a bit.” For underclothes mainly. She loved pinks and lavenders; the frillier the better. She always seemed to be buying pink, even for blouses and sweaters.
“Who would use pink lace?”
“I would.”
“No kidding? Where?”
Jennel didn’t know how to answer that.
He’d already seen her bra and panties. “What do you mean, ‘Where?’”
“Where would you use it? I can’t imagine it; not even as curtains.”
Jennel stifled a giggle of relief as she realized he was referring to her statement about Mrs. Van Chattan. “Satin and lace pillows...in her bedroom.”
“Oh.” He paused. “Well, I guess there it’d be okay. As long as she doesn’t want the house painted pink.”
Pink lace in the middle of his beautiful home! The thought brought out her giggle into a full laugh.
“What brought that on?”
“You. I hate pink as a dominant color, too.”
“You hate it? I guess I’m slow. You just said you used pink a lot.”
“I do. But never in a house. I thought you meant....”
“Yes?”
“Uh...” Jennel paused. How did she answer that? “In my clothes.”
“Clothes? What made you think...? Oh!” There was a long moment of absolute silence, then he laughed. “I see. Pink.” He sighed, then repeated it again, drawling the word out like an endearment. “Pink. Now... that’s where I can agree with you. There’s something about pink lace that sets off a woman, makes her all soft and feminine.”
“You think so?”
“Wearing it, or in the bedroom. Pink is very inviting to a man, in that sense.”
Jennel tensed, alert to his movements, but he stayed put. Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut? This conversation was enjoyable, but could easily get out of hand, given the situation. Encased in the sleeping bag, trapped in the small compartment, she would have no chance at all if Zack decided to attack.
“Don’t you think so?” he pressed.
“I’ve never thought about it.”
“Oh, come now. You didn’t buy those pink undies just for yourself, did you?”
A wave of warmth reminded her of just why she had bought them. But the young man who had caught her eye at the time turned out to be interested in a bank clerk with a wealthy father.
“Well?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Thought so.”
“Anyway, it’s not polite to ask.”
“Hum.”
“I wear what I want, to please myself.”
“Boston.” The tone carried a warning, and she wondered at it.
“Yes?”
“I think we’d better... Good night.”
She bade him “good night” and turned over to go to sleep, a tug of mischief springing to her lips. Pink lace in the middle of his he-man house!
For the first time that day, Jennel relaxed completely and the tiredness flowed out of her. She had been up since two a.m. Eastern Standard time, and although it was just after nine here, it was after midnight for her.
The boat rocked as the waves moved it, almost like being in a cradle. Having a man lying so close to her was strange, and she stayed awake after he fell asleep. The situation was volatile. Given the slightest encouragement, Zack would make love to her. She had no intention of leaving the island or her job here, so she’d have to tread carefully. He might not always warn her when she was pressing him unwisely.
She felt like a tightrope walker, balancing between what she had to do for her business, and what she really wanted to do, which was to expand her relationship with Zack. In spite of her dislike for domineering men, she couldn’t help being attracted to him. Somehow he had slipped the mold, making him more acceptable to her. Somehow he was different.
Next morning, she awoke to the smell and sound of bacon cooking. It made her instantly hungry, and she sat up and stretched.
“It’s six a.m.,” Zack announced cheerfully, looking down into the sleeping area. “Want breakfast?”
Eager to start the day, she said, “Sure. I’ll join you.”
He set down the bacon fork and strode over as she crawled out. He was clean- shaven, dark brown hair combed neatly, his after-shave sharply fragrant. Her senses quickened as he bent over her.
“Let’s see how your feet are, first.”
His touch sent a tingle traveling all the way up her spine. Having him so close was unsettling, enough so that she stared at the back of his neck, quite fascinated by the hair that formed a curl just behind his ear. Almost, she reached up to straighten it out, but caught herself in time. What would he think? What was she thinking of?
Oblivious to her reaction, Zack slipped the bandages aside. “Lots better. Don’t walk much today, keep them clean and elevated. Here’s a pair of socks you can wear over them.”
“Thanks,” she murmured, pulling on the pair of heavy cotton socks he handed to her. White with red stripes around the top, they looked comical on her feet, like large clown shoes. But they were warm and would keep her bandages clean.
She avoided his eyes, unsure of what hers might reveal. With the two of them so completely alone on the island, it would be unwise to let him know how strongly his presence was affecting her.
Evidently he’d been back to the house this morning, bringing the rest of her luggage. Pulling out some tight jeans and a blue blouse from her duffel bag, she took them with her into the boat’s head, and got dressed.
Her preliminary sketches were laid out on the table. She moved them over to make room for the food.
“Those aren’t bad,” he commented as he sat down, “seeing as how you only had photos to guide you. But I can tell you this, they’re totally unsuited to my plans.”
“Yes, they are,” she agreed tactfully, knowing he was right, and at his quick upward glance, added pleasantly, “Why look so surprised? You’ve completely changed the personality of the house with your plans; so naturally these interiors wouldn’t work.”
“I’m glad you agree.”
She swallowed her food and prepared for another bite before saying, “I’ll need to draw up a whole new set of interiors that’ll blend with what you’ve—”
He exploded, practically coming out of his chair. “Look! I told you already...no deal!” He clipped his words short. “John wants a person familiar with the region to give the feel of the islands to his house. Unobtrusive, blending in, as if it “gr
ew” here. He doesn’t want any Boston frills. So forget it, would you? You aren’t drawing up anything!” His eyes dared her to contradict him.
It was what she’d expected, and she said nothing, knowing the power of silence.
When she didn’t argue, he announced, “I just called Clyde. He said he’d come. Not this morning though—he already had a charter—but he should be here by late afternoon. And he apologized for forgetting to mention the situation here to you.”
“I see.” She frowned at the table in concentrated rebelliousness. She had only begun to fight.
She had been right in her assessment of Zack. He was the managing type. As long as she kept that image before her to counteract his undeniable attraction, she’d be able to mobilize her own forces and plan her strategy. Whether it would require infiltration or diversionary action depended upon his resistance.
He was not going to tell her what she could or couldn’t do. Mrs. Van Chattan had signed a contract with her, and she, Jennel, was going to fulfill that contract...with Zack’s help or without it!
Chapter Five
Jennel ate slowly, deep in thought. She could call the Van Chattans by a radio-telephone link. But it would be better to see them in person and show them her designs, once she revised them. She had more of a chance, that way. Without seeing her designs, the Van Chattans would surely retain Zack and dismiss her. Why had this mix-up happened anyway?
Finished with his breakfast, Zack put down his fork and stretched backwards. “When you get to New York tell them what happened and ask for expenses plus something for your time. It’s not your fault they don’t communicate.”
At least he didn’t blame her for that. Right—he wasn’t blaming her, but he wasn’t going to make any concessions either. Not unreasonable, just stubborn. But could he be any more stubborn than she?
Trying to talk Zack out of sending her away looked impossible. Therefore, she’d have to find some way of changing his mind—even if she had to trick him into letting her stay. She wasn’t giving up that easily! A diversion was called for.
The toast and eggs tasted good, and she ate slowly, enjoying the food.
For Mrs. Van Chattan’s comfort and happiness, the interiors Zack planned needed to be softened. She, herself, had not considered Mr. Van Chattan while drawing her interiors, but she knew he liked Zack’s masculine designs.
A home for the strong, manly type and the utterly feminine woman. One in which both felt comfortable. Clean lines with a touch of softness. The velvet over the steel. Could she design such a place?
She took the piece of toast Zack handed her and absent-mindedly buttered it. It was an intriguing challenge to design a home for two people of completely diverse tastes.
She could do it. She knew she could!
Somehow...she had to get Zack and his crew to do the work she had planned to hire carpenters for—all the remodeling and re-roofing and knocking out walls—while she designed a livable interior for Mr. and Mrs. Van Chattan. And somehow she had to get Zack to accept her designs over his.
She needed time.
If only she could cancel Zack’s arrangements with Clyde.
“Boston! Hey! Wake up!” She looked up to see Zack holding a pan of boiling water in one hand, a cup in the other. “You want coffee?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He poured the water, added a half- spoonful of instant coffee and set it in front of her. He was wearing work clothes, making him look rugged and excitingly masculine: blue jeans and a faded blue work shirt, the long sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms and broad strong hands with square-cut nails. The hands of a builder. It was easy to admire the owner of such hands.
A small smile flickered around the corner of his mouth, reflecting a definite twinkle in his eyes. “You were off somewhere...?”
She responded with a smile of her own. “I tend to do that. I concentrate on one thing and all else is blanked out.”
“That could be serious business, if you’re driving a car,” he teased, sitting down next to her, and she moved slightly to give him room.
“I try not to—then,” she joked back and his crooked grin grew broader, making her emotions spin with a heady wobble. Breakfast spent with Zack would be a great way to start anyone’s day.
He must’ve felt he could afford to relax and joke about things, now that he thought he was getting rid of her. It made him infinitely more attractive.
Zack was handsome enough to make any woman’s heart perk up and take interest, and when he showed compassion, as he had last night, or smiled in this lopsided way, well...! Jennel stirred her coffee as if it were the most important thing in the world while she called herself all kinds of a fool. With her business in jeopardy, she couldn’t afford to concentrate on anything but her job.
The job. Not the man.
Especially not this man. He wasn’t safe and biddable like her last boyfriend who would do anything for her.
Zack wouldn’t.
Zack wouldn’t be swayed by soft words and pleading blue eyes. The only way she might reach him would be through her designs...even if she had to send them back to the Van Chattans in New York. Only they could override Zack’s claim.
She had to maintain some form of hold on the island until she could talk to them. She was afraid if she left, she’d never get back. An illogical feeling perhaps, but there it was. She must stay on the island.
“I was planning my day. Since I’m not able to walk around, I wonder if you’d let me study your plans. I think I could learn a lot.”
“Sure.” He smiled, evidently pleased by her request. He wouldn’t have, if he had known her thoughts.
“I like your boat. Is it new?”
“No. I’ve had it about five years now.”
It looked new. He took excellent care of it, or else he didn’t use it often. The spic and span interior would have made her Navy father proud. “Do you use it often for your jobs?”
“Only on ones like this. I use it mainly for fishing trips or pleasure cruises. I like to get away from things. Out on the water is the only place where people can’t constantly call you with their problems.”
“Does that happen often?”
“Not so much anymore. I’ve got some good foremen who run things once I get set up. They know better than to bother me over details. I’ll stand behind them on those.”
“And your crews?”
“The same. I choose my crews carefully; ones who think for themselves. I pay accordingly, but I gain in the long run by having things done right and on time.”
That must be nice. Jennel envisioned herself one day able to hire a helper who would do the work while she designed.
Up above, Brutus barked, a deep rolling sound, rocking the boat as he jumped out.
“Must be my crew,” Zack said. He went up the steps to look. “Yep!” He stepped back and brought out his case. “Here. Keep ’em in order, so I can put my hands on the one I want without having to hunt.”
“I will.” How many times had her father said the same thing? The exact same thing. “And don’t touch my cast iron griddle.”
He was more adamant about that than his plans.
“Okay.”
“Even when it gets cold. If you use soap I’ll have to re-condition it. It’s fine the way it is, so leave it alone.”
“Okay!” She wouldn’t touch his precious griddle, but curiosity prompted her to ask, “How do you clean it then?”
“Hot water, no soap. Drying it on a hot stove sterilizes it, but don’t you touch it!” She almost saluted. “No, sir!” Not after that warning. Besides she was going to be drawing plans, not washing pans.
Zack had his doubts. Dare he leave her with everything? She looked innocent, but he’d never put much trust in looks. The key to his boat was in his pocket, so unless she knew how to hot-wire a boat, she’d be here when he got back. Shrugging, he threw the paper plates into the garbage and left to join his crew.
Jennel was a distract
ion he hadn’t counted on. He wanted to get to know her better, but that wasn’t possible. She held herself back, as if afraid of contact. It might be her New England background, but he felt it was more than that.
She tugged his emotions to all points of the compass, with smiles one moment and snappy answers the next. His position with her shifted so often, it threw him adrift.
He tried to put Jennel out of his mind as he greeted his crew. The three men had worked for him all of last year, and he knew them to be hard workers. He wouldn’t keep any other kind around, but they were getting harder to find. He led them up to the house and showed them around, smiling as he pictured Jennel’s face when she stabbed her rare steak. He shook his head over the way she had cut up her feet.
“You mean you don’t like it that way, Zack? I thought you said—”
“What?”
“I thought you were going to remove this wall?”
“Yes. Sorry. I was thinking of other things.” Like the slight dimples in her cheeks when she smiled.
Deciding that the house contained too much of Jennel already, Zack took his men outside and marked where he wanted the trench dug to bring in the utilities.
Setting two men to dig near the house, he took the third across the narrow strait to Stuart Island and started him digging with a backhoe. Zack helped move rocks and did some shovel work himself. The physical labor felt good. It beat a health club for getting into shape, but it didn’t keep Jennel from entering his mind and tormenting him with a thousand questions about her.
With Zack out of the way, Jennel considered different ways to keep Clyde from coming. All of them sounded weak.
Determined to try, she hobbled up the steps to the radio and flipped the switch. Not knowing Clyde’s call letters, she said, “Calling Clyde Brekley of Friday Harbor. Over.”
Three repeats brought no response. If Zack caught the message, she was out of luck, but then she was out of here anyway, if Clyde arrived on schedule.
She had Mrs. Van Chattan’s phone number. Should she call her? Jennel spent several seconds mustering the courage to put the call through, and felt nothing but intense relief when the ringing went unanswered.
