herself in front of him. "You want me to spend time with Jake. That's what this is all about? The drinks? The walk on the docks?"
"Floats. Yeah, that's what it's about. It's not a hardship. You've got gorgeous eyes."
"You like my eyes?"
"I've always liked your eyes. Jake's going to like them, too."
She thought he intended to kiss her soon, he was watching her so intensely. She fought to pull air into her lungs. Jenn couldn't have meant this, standing on the float at the edge of the ocean, the stars obscured by clouds, planning....
If she didn't ask, then she'd never know, and she'd always wonder what it would have been like. Life had been simpler, she thought wildly, when she was a teenager, when she kept her eyes on her books and didn't look up.
"Do you still have your motorcycle?"
"It hasn't been out for a while, but I've got it. Want a ride?"
Heavens, he sounded exactly the way she'd imagined, the way he'd sounded when he stopped by the side of the road ahead of her, his motorcycle pulsing between his muscular legs, and asked Lydia if she wanted a ride.
What the hell, she thought, he could only say no, and she was damned if she'd leave Port Townsend carrying a collection of leftover fantasies.
"I do want a ride, and I want you to take me to tomorrow's dance. I— I'll do what I can for Jake if you'll romance me, the way you did Lydia in high school."
The words came tumbling out. She wasn't sure where they'd been hiding, but she couldn't seem to stop them. "I want you to sneak me away from the crowd at the dance and kiss me as if you couldn't get enough. I want a week of fantasy, flowers and motorcycle rides into the unknown, and then... then, next Friday morning, I want you to kiss me good-bye, a friendly kiss, and tell me it was the best week you ever had."
He stood frozen, a statue against the shape of the big blue boat. When he cleared his throat, if she hadn't known how unlikely it was, she would have sworn he was nervous.
"You want an affair? One week?"
"We don't have to actually—"
"Why?"
She swallowed. "I told you I had a crush on you in high school. I guess there's still..."
"Chemistry."
"If you don't want—"
"You'll work with Jake."
"I'll try."
He reached across and slid his hand into her hair. She felt his fingers tangle in the strands behind her ear, felt nerve endings where there weren't supposed to be any.
"You've got a deal," he growled. "One week." Then, ever so slowly, he drew her face toward his and settled his lips softly over her mouth.
Her body hummed with something breathless and exciting. Her lips parted, softening under his. Then he drew back, leaving her confused and incomplete.
"I think..." She wasn't thinking, she was feeling, wanting. "I can't... I have to get... get back to my car."
"I'll drive you." Was it anger in his voice? Had she offended him by making the overture? Was she supposed to wait for him to ask, the way she'd waited back in her senior year?
Ridiculous. She hadn't been waiting for him back then. He'd been out of the question, impossible. Too wild, too dangerous, and he'd never have looked at her back then.
But he remembered her eyes.
"I don't need a ride." She slipped her purse off her shoulder. "You paid for my drink. I'll give you—"
His hand closed over hers. "Is that what you imagined in your fantasies? Having a drink with me, paying your share?"
She laughed breathlessly, her fingers clinging to her wallet under his warm, callused hand. There must be something wrong with her lungs tonight.
His low laughter echoed over the water. "It's a mating ritual, sweetheart. Atmosphere and fantasy, and take my word for it, if you pay for your own drink it's going to mess up the fantasy. Put your wallet back."
One drink—two, actually, but she couldn't imagine the teenage Blake letting Lydia Dutch treat.
"I'll phone for a taxi to take me back to my car," she decided. "I saw a pay phone."
"Claire, I'm not going to stand down here watching you up at the
"Floats. Yeah, that's what it's about. It's not a hardship. You've got gorgeous eyes."
"You like my eyes?"
"I've always liked your eyes. Jake's going to like them, too."
She thought he intended to kiss her soon, he was watching her so intensely. She fought to pull air into her lungs. Jenn couldn't have meant this, standing on the float at the edge of the ocean, the stars obscured by clouds, planning....
If she didn't ask, then she'd never know, and she'd always wonder what it would have been like. Life had been simpler, she thought wildly, when she was a teenager, when she kept her eyes on her books and didn't look up.
"Do you still have your motorcycle?"
"It hasn't been out for a while, but I've got it. Want a ride?"
Heavens, he sounded exactly the way she'd imagined, the way he'd sounded when he stopped by the side of the road ahead of her, his motorcycle pulsing between his muscular legs, and asked Lydia if she wanted a ride.
What the hell, she thought, he could only say no, and she was damned if she'd leave Port Townsend carrying a collection of leftover fantasies.
"I do want a ride, and I want you to take me to tomorrow's dance. I— I'll do what I can for Jake if you'll romance me, the way you did Lydia in high school."
The words came tumbling out. She wasn't sure where they'd been hiding, but she couldn't seem to stop them. "I want you to sneak me away from the crowd at the dance and kiss me as if you couldn't get enough. I want a week of fantasy, flowers and motorcycle rides into the unknown, and then... then, next Friday morning, I want you to kiss me good-bye, a friendly kiss, and tell me it was the best week you ever had."
He stood frozen, a statue against the shape of the big blue boat. When he cleared his throat, if she hadn't known how unlikely it was, she would have sworn he was nervous.
"You want an affair? One week?"
"We don't have to actually—"
"Why?"
She swallowed. "I told you I had a crush on you in high school. I guess there's still..."
"Chemistry."
"If you don't want—"
"You'll work with Jake."
"I'll try."
He reached across and slid his hand into her hair. She felt his fingers tangle in the strands behind her ear, felt nerve endings where there weren't supposed to be any.
"You've got a deal," he growled. "One week." Then, ever so slowly, he drew her face toward his and settled his lips softly over her mouth.
Her body hummed with something breathless and exciting. Her lips parted, softening under his. Then he drew back, leaving her confused and incomplete.
"I think..." She wasn't thinking, she was feeling, wanting. "I can't... I have to get... get back to my car."
"I'll drive you." Was it anger in his voice? Had she offended him by making the overture? Was she supposed to wait for him to ask, the way she'd waited back in her senior year?
Ridiculous. She hadn't been waiting for him back then. He'd been out of the question, impossible. Too wild, too dangerous, and he'd never have looked at her back then.
But he remembered her eyes.
"I don't need a ride." She slipped her purse off her shoulder. "You paid for my drink. I'll give you—"
His hand closed over hers. "Is that what you imagined in your fantasies? Having a drink with me, paying your share?"
She laughed breathlessly, her fingers clinging to her wallet under his warm, callused hand. There must be something wrong with her lungs tonight.
His low laughter echoed over the water. "It's a mating ritual, sweetheart. Atmosphere and fantasy, and take my word for it, if you pay for your own drink it's going to mess up the fantasy. Put your wallet back."
One drink—two, actually, but she couldn't imagine the teenage Blake letting Lydia Dutch treat.
"I'll phone for a taxi to take me back to my car," she decided. "I saw a pay phone."
"Claire, I'm not going to stand down here watching you up at the
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