Let Me Count The Ways Read Online Free PDF Page B

the path toward the house. Frankly, I was a little disappointed.
    That kiss we’d shared in the car had seemed nothing short of amazing and I was eager for a repeat. But, maybe I’d been imagining things? Maybe I’d been looking for something--an excuse to continue in the face of his reluctance, a reason to convince him, or maybe to convince us both, that this was a good idea, that we wouldn’t just be wasting our time tonight.
    He’d certainly seemed eager enough--then. But now? Now he seemed distant, remote, and I’d had more than enough of that in my last marriage. Of course, it could be he was just tired. But, on a night when I was hoping for heat or, failing that, a little warmth; at a time when I longed for the honest passion of an honest man, it struck the wrong note entirely.
    A couple of steps led up to the front entry. Two wide, porcelain bowls, jade green and filled with water, stood at the top, delicate water lilies floating inside. The double doors of the front entry, also jade green, were unadorned, save for the round windows in each one. Made of thick, wavy discs of blown glass forming concentric rings, they looked like water that had frozen in mid-ripple.
    Mike unlocked the door and pushed it open. “After you,” he murmured.
    I smiled as I slipped past him into the house, but said nothing.
    Inside, the house was a comfortable, timeless blending of old and new. Hardwood floors in the living room, wooden vigas on the ceiling, a distressed-brick fireplace that seemed to take up one entire wall. Mission Oak furniture. A Mondrian-style carpet. Arts and Crafts lampshades.
    A set of whimsical, wrought-iron fireplace tools graced the hearth, their spiral design echoed in the iron pot rack that hung above the stove. The terracotta kitchen floor wore the kind of shiny, rich patina that only comes with age and care. An earthenware water jug sat atop the mosaic tiled counter and next to it, a heavy tumbler of Mexican glass. Beyond that was the dining room: Danish teak beneath a copper and mica chandelier.
    The back wall, which faced the softly burbling creek, was mostly louvered glass. With all its narrow frosted panes angled open, as they were now, it was like a solid wall of night. Through it, all the sounds and smells that rose on the evening air flowed, unchecked, into the house.
    “It’s lovely,” I murmured politely. It was lovely, and unusual and different, but I hadn’t really come here for the house.
    “Thank you,” Mike replied, making no move to join me. He’d tossed his jacket over the back of the couch when we entered, but after that, he’d seemed to be almost frozen in place, moving just enough to keep me in sight. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked at last.
    Seriously? “Uh, no,” I said, trying hard not to laugh. “I think I’m okay for now.” He already thought I was drunk, didn’t he? He must be more nervous than I thought, if he was offering me more. Or maybe he was looking to get me completely plastered?
    “Coffee? Tea? Something to eat, then? Cheese and crackers, perhaps? Or...”
    “Nothing. Thanks.”
    I continued exploring. Berber carpeting in the bedroom. More glass. Another fireplace--this one framed in river rock. The bed was a huge four-poster; walnut and wrought iron.
    “I can see you really have a thing for iron,” I observed, turning toward the doorway where Mike was propping up the doorframe. “Another passion?”
    He shrugged. “Not really. There’s an artist--up near Pismo. I was at a fair... oh, several years ago now... I saw his work and... well, I was redecorating, anyway, so...” His voice trailed away. We stared at each other with the length of the room between us.
    Finally, he dropped his gaze. “Help me out, Claire. I’m lost. I don’t know what to do here.”
    Well, at least he was honest. And wasn’t that what I said I wanted? I felt my lips quirk. “Well... you could start by kissing me again.”
    I think I was expecting him to