Unravel Me Read Online Free PDF Page A

on the knob, he paused and looked over his shoulder. “Wear something pretty.”
    Startled by the request, she let out an awkward laugh. “What? That sounds like a date.”
    He flashed his lady-killer grin again. “You can call it what you like. By the way, how old are you, Juliet?”
    Surprised again, she answered automatically. “Thirty-two.”
    “I’ll be thirty on my next birthday.”
    “August fourth.” Where had that come from? She knew his birthday off the top of her head?
    “Yep.”
    Apparently she did. “So . . . ?”
    “So stop thinking you’re older than me. Come next summer, we’ll be in the same decade darlin’, both of us over the age that anybody can trust.”
    Then he left, which gave him the last smile and the last word. But not the last thoughts.
    Those were racing through Juliet’s head as she stared at his retreating, half-naked form, the muscles of his strong back shifting as he walked away. She’d definitely failed at getting things back to normal, hadn’t she? Because normal for this lonely widow definitely wasn’t a lunch date with a virile, muscled young man who suddenly made her sweat just looking at him.
     
    On the day they’d carried boxes into Juliet’s house on Mar Vista Drive, the movers had told Noah there were three kinds of people in Malibu: the beach people, the canyon people, and the view people. As he and Juliet ascended the road in the direction of the Pacific, it made sense to him that she’d chosen a hillside home. She’d always struck him as someone who stayed above the fray.
    Composed and serene in her beauty, her feelings always seemed to be held carefully close. While her love for the general had been palpable and her grief over his death truly deep, she’d never betrayed any wild swings or passionate bursts of emotion. He’d never seen her less than graceful. Not once had she ever fidgeted in his presence.
    Until last night, when he discovered she’d bumped into her butcher-block table and cut her hand.
    Until now, when her fingertips were drumming a ceaseless percussion against her left leg. Letting his gaze linger on her a moment, he smiled to himself. She had dressed pretty. Not that she ever looked anything less than classy. Today she had on a pair of leg-hugging, biscuit-colored jeans covered by a V-necked tunic-y thing that was mostly the same color as the pants and splashed with vibrant blue, green, and gold flowers. She wore low-heeled strappy gold sandals on her feet.
    Her toenails were painted a matching shade the color of twenty-four carats and the whole outfit made her look expensive but approachable.
    And yet, oddly nervous.
    He put out his hand to still her fingers, flattening them against her warm thigh. She twitched at his touch, and he slanted her a glance. “Why so tense?”
    “I didn’t sleep well last night.”
    “Yeah?” With a final pat, he slid his hand off hers and gripped the steering wheel again. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
    His sleep had been shitty, too. He’d kept dreaming of Juliet’s fingertips drifting down the bare skin of his chest, leaving four hot, pulsing brands in their wake. Then his eyes would open and he’d find himself in his dark bedroom, alone. After a groan, he’d bury his head in the pillow . . . and hope to find his way right back to where the dream had left off.
    “What kept you up?” he asked.
    “I had a lot on my mind. This, especially.”
    He glanced over. “This . . . lunch? You and I sharing a meal?”
    Her face flushed. “I mean meeting my sisters again today. I didn’t spend much time with them last night. After their initial revelation, I just turned and walked out of the shop. Shell-shocked, I guess.”
    They’d reached the Pacific Coast Highway. Noah turned left on PCH, following Juliet’s directions. Malibu & Ewe, the business owned by Cassandra Riley, shared a parking lot situated on a bluff overlooking one of the area’s famous—and surf-friendly—south-facing beaches. When