Just for the Summer Read Online Free PDF Page B

been raised to be respectful, no matter
     how frustrated he was. “Don’t. I know that look in your eye, and I know what you and
     your friends are capable of. You’re not going to bring her a Welcome to Lake Bliss
     casserole and you’re sure as hell not going to invite her over here for dinner.”
    “I just want to help. You’re the one who keeps talking about needing a wife.”
    He’d love to have a wife. He believed in the ideology of marriage, of the intimacy
     of sharing your life with one special person. He wanted to find a woman who’d be a
     good mother. Someone to go through the ups and downs that life dished out. Someone
     to make love to late at night.
    His mind wandered to Ms. Sullivan—Dani. Since their first meeting, he’d spent a ridiculous
     amount of time wondering about her sassy mouth, her luscious body. Was she single?
     Didn’t matter, he reminded himself. She wasn’t wife or mother material. She was a
     temporary woman. Just like his ex-wife.
    …
    The merciless barking of a dog crept into Dani’s murky brain. Who in their right mind
     wouldn’t shut up a yapping animal? She shoved her silky sleep mask up her forehead.
     The bright sunlight caused her to squint in order to catch a glimpse of the clock.
    Ten. She groaned. Between thinking about Sam and lusting over Matt, she’d had a hard
     time falling asleep last night. She’d finally settled down around five.
    When knocking accompanied the barking, Dani dragged herself out of bed, then shuffled
     through the cottage. Wasn’t the lake supposed to be a quiet, peaceful place? Maybe
     investing in earplugs would be the way to go.
    She opened the wooden door leading to the screened-in porch and took a deep breath.
     The air was still humid from last night’s rain and tinged with the fresh scent of
     pine trees. With hands on hips, she walked to the screen door to check out the commotion.
     There sat a long-haired, black-and-white dog, tail thumping as if impatient to be
     let inside. Next to the dog stood Sam, fishing pole in hand, his focus shifting between
     Dani and the dog.
    Her other guest was Matt in faded blue jeans and a plain white T-shirt that hugged
     his broad chest. He wore a hint of a smile that messed with her breathing. Hard to
     say what he was thinking. His focus shifted, sliding down her body, stopping here
     and there along the way, reminding her that she was clad in a thin pink tank top and
     cotton boxers. She grabbed the sweatshirt she’d flung across a patio chair, stuffed
     her arms in the sleeves, and zipped it halfway up her neck.
    “Morning, Dani,” Sam said.
    “Hi, honey.”
    He gave Matt a grin that made her think they were in cahoots together.
    Matt looked at Dani. “Is he yours?”
    Her stomach dropped like she’d just plummeted ten floors in an elevator. She tried
     to keep the expression on her face neutral. What had happened? Why would he suddenly
     think Sam was hers? But when Matt ran a hand across the dog’s head, she realized he
     was talking about the animal, and her heart resumed a normal rhythm. She cleared her
     throat. “No. I’ve never seen him before.”
    “He isn’t wearing a collar, Dad.” Sam gave Matt a hopeful expression, the unspoken
     question obvious—could they keep him?
    “He might belong to one of the guests. We’ll ask around.”
    “Can I take him to the beach?”
    Matt glanced down by the water. Dani followed his line of vision to see Rachel and
     her boys talking to a few guests.
    “Sure. Ask if anyone knows the owner.” As Sam took off running with the dog at his
     heels, Matt called, “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
    Dani unlatched the screen door and held it open. He stepped inside the porch, followed
     her into the kitchen. She started the mini-coffeemaker before shifting around to face
     him. He stood so close, she could see the texture of his clean-shaven skin. He looked
     good and smelled even better.
    “Seems like the day’s started without you,