Beachcomber Read Online Free PDF
Author: Karen Robards
particular moment she looked pretty darn cute scooting away from him on her backside. DePalma had good taste in women, he had to give the bastard that.
It was a damned shame she was going to end up in jail when this was all over.
“Look, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Holding up both hands palms out to demonstrate just how harmless he was, he smiled at her, going all out to exude good-neighbor helpfulness from every pore. She did not appear persuaded. Reaching the dune, she tried without success to move backward up the sandy slope that kept crumbling beneath her.
“Stay away!”
Disregarding that, he kept moving, stopping when his feet were just inches from her toes. He was confident that he looked innocuous enough, an average Joe on a beach vacation, nothing to alarm her at all in a smiling blond guy wearing ratty swim shorts and a partly buttoned madras shirt. Anyway, she’d been screaming before she’d come up over that dune, so whatever was freaking her out wasn’t him. He smiled wider and was leaning over to help her to her feet when she let loose with another of those ear-splitting shrieks and threw a handful of sand in his face.
The stuff stung. Jerking upright, he shook his head,thanking his lucky stars he’d managed to close his eyes in time.
“Jesus,” he said. “Chill, would you? It’s okay. Everything’s cool.”
“Help! Fire!”
“Fire?”
That made no sense, but then it didn’t really matter: the object was not to understand her, but to convince her of his harmlessness and get the hell out of Dodge. He tried smiling again and reextended his hand to her. She rewarded that gentlemanly gesture by kicking out at him like a pissed-off mule.
“Ow, shit!” She’d stiff-legged him! Pain shot through his leg as her heel connected with his kneecap. He grabbed his knee and hopped backward only to trip over the plastic chaise longue that he’d deftly managed to avoid during his two previous, infinitely more successful forays onto her patio.
This time it took him down. He hopped right into it, lost his balance, and crashed down on the footrest part. The cheap plastic collapsed beneath him with a resounding crack! His tailbone hit the ground with bruising force. Unable to stop the fall’s momentum, he kept on going over, and the back of his head smacked concrete. To add insult to injury, the surviving part of the chair jackknifed over his head. Lying flat on his back on unforgiving concrete with sharp plastic shards digging into his butt and a plastic tent over his head, he quickly realized that seeing stars and looking ridiculous weren’t his only problems.
“Don’t move! Don’t move!”
In the very act of pushing the chair off his head, he looked up to find one more sure sign that the situation was quickly deteriorating: an agitated woman dancing above him armed with a can of self-defense spray.
It was pointed right at him.
Shit. A faceful of Mace he did not need.
“Lady, I’m on your side,” he yelped, both hands reaching for the sky in imitation of all the cornered bad guys in all the spaghetti westerns he had ever seen. “I’m just trying to help you. You don’t want any help, that’s fine by me. I’ll just go away.”
She still held the spray on him, arms extended, clutching the can with both hands like Dirty Harry with his .44, her finger clearly itchy on the trigger. But his words seemed to give her pause. At least she didn’t immediately make like a skunk and spray.
“What are you doing on my patio?”
Good one.
“Looking for my cat.” The excuse just popped into his head, probably because he’d seen a cat prowling out near the edge of her privacy fence when he’d come in.
“Looking for your cat?”
To say that she sounded skeptical was an understatement. Okay, so as an excuse that one kind of sucked.
But Luke nodded. “Marvin. I was looking for my cat Marvin. I saw him run under those bushes.” He jerked a thumb sideways toward the bushes
It was a damned shame she was going to end up in jail when this was all over.
“Look, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Holding up both hands palms out to demonstrate just how harmless he was, he smiled at her, going all out to exude good-neighbor helpfulness from every pore. She did not appear persuaded. Reaching the dune, she tried without success to move backward up the sandy slope that kept crumbling beneath her.
“Stay away!”
Disregarding that, he kept moving, stopping when his feet were just inches from her toes. He was confident that he looked innocuous enough, an average Joe on a beach vacation, nothing to alarm her at all in a smiling blond guy wearing ratty swim shorts and a partly buttoned madras shirt. Anyway, she’d been screaming before she’d come up over that dune, so whatever was freaking her out wasn’t him. He smiled wider and was leaning over to help her to her feet when she let loose with another of those ear-splitting shrieks and threw a handful of sand in his face.
The stuff stung. Jerking upright, he shook his head,thanking his lucky stars he’d managed to close his eyes in time.
“Jesus,” he said. “Chill, would you? It’s okay. Everything’s cool.”
“Help! Fire!”
“Fire?”
That made no sense, but then it didn’t really matter: the object was not to understand her, but to convince her of his harmlessness and get the hell out of Dodge. He tried smiling again and reextended his hand to her. She rewarded that gentlemanly gesture by kicking out at him like a pissed-off mule.
“Ow, shit!” She’d stiff-legged him! Pain shot through his leg as her heel connected with his kneecap. He grabbed his knee and hopped backward only to trip over the plastic chaise longue that he’d deftly managed to avoid during his two previous, infinitely more successful forays onto her patio.
This time it took him down. He hopped right into it, lost his balance, and crashed down on the footrest part. The cheap plastic collapsed beneath him with a resounding crack! His tailbone hit the ground with bruising force. Unable to stop the fall’s momentum, he kept on going over, and the back of his head smacked concrete. To add insult to injury, the surviving part of the chair jackknifed over his head. Lying flat on his back on unforgiving concrete with sharp plastic shards digging into his butt and a plastic tent over his head, he quickly realized that seeing stars and looking ridiculous weren’t his only problems.
“Don’t move! Don’t move!”
In the very act of pushing the chair off his head, he looked up to find one more sure sign that the situation was quickly deteriorating: an agitated woman dancing above him armed with a can of self-defense spray.
It was pointed right at him.
Shit. A faceful of Mace he did not need.
“Lady, I’m on your side,” he yelped, both hands reaching for the sky in imitation of all the cornered bad guys in all the spaghetti westerns he had ever seen. “I’m just trying to help you. You don’t want any help, that’s fine by me. I’ll just go away.”
She still held the spray on him, arms extended, clutching the can with both hands like Dirty Harry with his .44, her finger clearly itchy on the trigger. But his words seemed to give her pause. At least she didn’t immediately make like a skunk and spray.
“What are you doing on my patio?”
Good one.
“Looking for my cat.” The excuse just popped into his head, probably because he’d seen a cat prowling out near the edge of her privacy fence when he’d come in.
“Looking for your cat?”
To say that she sounded skeptical was an understatement. Okay, so as an excuse that one kind of sucked.
But Luke nodded. “Marvin. I was looking for my cat Marvin. I saw him run under those bushes.” He jerked a thumb sideways toward the bushes
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