Midnight Rhythms. Karen Van Der ZeeЧитать онлайн книгу.
grinned at her as his focus cleared.
“Ah, you’ve returned from the world of commerce and academia. How are you?”
“Exhausted.”
He leaped to his feet with an explosion of energy that took her off guard. “How about a swim?” he asked. “And a glass of wine to wind down?”
A swim. A glass of wine. It sounded heavenly. It was a balmy night. It would feel good. She imagined herself in the pool with David, sipping wine, her body floating in the warm water, the sky full of stars above, and her heart began to gallop. Her imagination was running wild again. It was crazy. She didn’t even like the man. He was looming over her, and she didn’t like that either. She took a step back.
“No, thank you,” she said. “I’ve got things to do.” Laundry, for one. More useful than gazing at the moon.
“You’re a very busy person,” he observed.
“Yes, I am.”
He put his hands in the pockets of his jeans and gave her a searching look. “What do you normally do in your free time?” he asked conversationally.
“I don’t have any.”
“Never?”
“Not lately, anyway.” Not since she’d taken the extra summer courses. “I work, go to classes, study, take care of the house.” Fortunately housework didn’t require much time; Susan had insisted her regular cleaning lady keep coming at least once a week, and the yard was taken care of by a gardener. She never saw either of these people because she was never at home during the day. “If there’s time left, I sleep,” she added. “Or at least I try.”
His left eyebrow arched up. “No frivolity at all? No romance, no fun?”
“I haven’t got time.” Romance? she added silently. Are you kidding? “And now, if you’ll excuse me?” She trekked down the hall to her bedroom, changed into shorts and T-shirt and headed to the laundry room. The dryer held clothes she’d done two days earlier and hadn’t yet taken out. She dumped them on the folding table and found David behind her as she picked up a pair of cotton panties to fold them. He was leaning against the door, a glass of white wine in each hand.
“Have one of these while you’re doing that,” he said easily.
The last thing she needed was for him to stand there watching her fold her underwear, her practical, serviceable cotton panties. He’d been here barely twenty-four hours and he was getting on her nerves already. She suppressed the urge to tell him to get lost.
What she’d really like was a drink to help her relax. And he was offering her one. Oh, what the heck, why not? She dropped the panties back on the pile, accepted the glass from him and took a sip. “Thank you,” she said politely, caving in to civility. She tried not to see how good he looked wearing just jeans and a T-shirt-lean, muscular, fit. Of course she saw anyway.
“I’ve been trying to contact Susan and Andrew today,” he said, “but it seems they’ve disappeared in the Turkish hinterland. I’ll try again tomorrow.”
She frowned. “Why were you trying to contact them?” After all, he wasn’t the one worried about the situation.
“So they can reassure you about my presence here, tell you I’m an upstanding citizen and not an escaped convict or whatever you might have imagined,” he said levelly. Again the humor in his voice. As if the very idea of someone finding him suspicious was exceedingly comical.
She took another sip of the wine. “I see. Well, I do like to hear from them.” She picked up a towel and folded it, hoping he’d go away, but he seemed perfectly content lounging against the doorpost, drinking his wine in a leisurely way.
She concentrated on folding the towels, trying not to look at him. She wished he weren’t so damned good-looking. It was having a disturbing effect on her equilibrium. She had enough problems in her life; she didn’t need a man to add to them. And certainly not a take-charge type like this one.
“So, what have you been doing all day?” she asked casually. Not that she cared, of course.
“Had a good long run this morning, made some phone calls, did some reading, some writing.”
“Sounds pretty strenuous,” she said evenly.
“It was very restorative, actually.”
Restorative? He didn’t look like anyone in need of restoration.
“More wine?” he asked, reaching for her empty glass, and before she even thought about it she had agreed, and he left to go to the kitchen to get it. She was an idiot. She’d never get rid of him this way.
And, of course, the inevitable happened.
The wine loosened her tongue, as it always did. Just two small glasses was all it took. Fifteen minutes later she found herself sitting at the kitchen table, telling him about her horrible day and her cranky grandfather who lived in the Stone Age when it came to running a business, and that she was worried about him and the future of the store, and that she’d been friends with Susan since high school, and how she’d cried for days when her dog had died when she was twelve, and that she needed to find an apartment by the end of August because Kevin had to start school again, and all kinds of other boring things he couldn’t possibly be interested in.
She stopped talking, embarrassed suddenly. What had possessed her to tell all this to this man? It was that sexy voice of his, a voice that beckoned, tempted: Come here, let me hold you, I’ll make you safe. As if she lived in the Dark Ages and needed protection. Like the Prince coming to rescue Cinderella from her dreary lot.
The wine…it was the wine making her say things, think things, making her all maudlin. Good thing she hadn’t started telling him about Jason leaving her and her parents drowning, or she’d be sitting here now bawling her eyes out.
“Kevin?” he asked.
She swallowed. “My son. He’s at summer camp right now, in Florida.”
“You have a kid,” he said, as if trying out the sound of it. “Imagine that. How old is he?”
“Ten.”
His eyes widened, his brows arched. “Ten? Good Lord…” A quizzical expression darkened his face.
She could imagine what he was thinking. She looked young for her age and could easily pass for twenty-four or-five instead of twenty-nine. She really couldn’t blame people for wondering about her having a ten-year-old son, yet it irritated her. She looked straight at him. “And just for your information, no, I wasn’t an unwed mother, and I didn’t ‘have to’ get married.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” he said dryly. “I’m not sure I could have lived under the same roof as you—you being a loose woman with all those sinful secrets in your past and all.”
She glowered at him and he laughed.
She came to her feet. “I’ve got to get some sleep,” she said, and moved to the door.
“And I’m going to have a swim.” He rotated his shoulders as if they felt tight. “It’s a great night. Sure you don’t want to join me?”
“Yes—no, thank you.”
She lay in bed thinking about him swimming in the pool. Would he be wearing swimming trunks?
She turned her face in the pillow and groaned. “You are so pathetic,” she told herself out loud. “You’re acting like a teenager obsessed with nudity and sex. Get a grip on yourself, will you?”
Well, it had been an awfully long time since she’d been in the arms of a man. And under the right circumstances, and with the right man, that was really a very nice place to be. Last night her tired brain had played tricks with her and she’d been momentarily deluded. She should just forget about it.
“Oh, go to sleep,” she