Unstoppable: Love With The Proper Stranger / Letters To Kelly. Suzanne BrockmannЧитать онлайн книгу.
she grinned at Mariah.
Mariah looked from the dog to the man.
The man was far better-looking—or at least he would be if he smiled.
His hair was dark and severely cut close to his scalp, almost as if it was growing in after he’d shaved his head. Despite the austerity of his crew cut, he was a strikingly handsome man. His features looked almost chiseled, the bone structure of his face more elegant than rugged. His eyebrows were thick and dark, and right now forming a rather intimidating scowl over eyes that she guessed were brown. His chin quite possibly was perfect, his lips generously full, but his nose was large and slightly crooked.
On closer scrutiny, Mariah realized that it was possible some people might not have found this man worthy of a second glance. Actually, he wasn’t conventionally handsome—he’d certainly never grace the cover of a men’s fashion magazine. But there was something about his looks that she found incredibly appealing.
Or maybe it wasn’t his looks at all, Mariah thought with a smile, remembering how the young woman in the natural-food store on the mainland had spoken of cosmic reverberations and auras. Maybe as far as auras went, his was a solid ten.
As he stepped closer, she saw in the pale morning light that his face was lined with weariness and gray with fatigue. Still, despite that and his too-short hair, she found him to be remarkably attractive.
“Hi,” Mariah said, sitting up and brushing the sand off the front of her T-shirt. His eyes followed the movement of her hand, and she became self-consciously aware of the fact that she’d only thrown a pair of shorts on underneath the T-shirt she’d worn to bed. She wasn’t wearing a bra and she didn’t have the body type that allowed for such wardrobe omissions. The only times she didn’t bother to put on a bra were mornings like this, when she was certain she would be alone.
But she’d been wrong. Right now, she most definitely was not alone.
“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to fold her arms across her chest in a casual manner. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Dear God, would you listen to her? She was apologizing for being on her own stretch of beach.
She didn’t have to apologize for that. And she certainly shouldn’t bother to apologize for her missing bra. Despite the man’s earlier scowl, it was clear from the way that his gaze kept straying in the direction of her breasts that he, for one, was not in the least put out by her lack of underwear.
He pulled his gaze away from her long enough to glance up at the cottage. “Is this your place?”
Mariah nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m renting it for the season.”
“Nice,” he said, but his eyes were back on her, sweeping along the lengths of her bare legs, skimming again across her body and face. “I hope we didn’t disturb you. The dog can get loud—she’s still young.”
“No, I woke up to catch the sunrise on film.”
He glanced up at the sky. The sun was already above the horizon and climbing fast. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We were in your way.”
“It’s all right.”
He held out one hand, offering to help her up.
Taking his hand meant she’d have to unfold her arms. But there was no way she’d be able to get to her feet with her arms folded anyway.
What the heck, Mariah thought, reaching up to clasp his hand. With a face like his, this man had no doubt seen a vast array of female bodies, and probably wearing far less than a worn-out T-shirt. She was nothing new, no big deal.
He, on the other hand, was a very, very big deal. He pulled her up from the sand, and she found herself standing much too close to him. But when she moved to back away, he steadied her with his other hand, his fingers warm against her elbow.
He was tall, with shoulders that went on forever and a broad chest that tapered down to a narrow waist and slim hips and… Embarrassed, Mariah quickly brought her eyes back to his face.
His eyes were blue. They were electric, brilliant, neon blue. And they sparked with the heat of attraction. Dear God, he found her attractive, too.
“Is it just you?” the man asked, and Mariah gazed up at him stupidly, wondering what he was talking about.
“Renting the house,” he added, and she understood.
“Yes,” she said, gently pulling free and putting some distance between them. “I’m here by myself.”
He nodded. God, whoever he was, he was so serious. She’d yet to see him smile.
“How about you?” she asked. “Are you vacationing with your family?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m here alone, too.” He motioned vaguely down the beach. “I’m staying at the resort, at least temporarily. I was thinking about renting one of the houses up on this part of the beach. I’m getting tired of room service—I’d like to have my own kitchen.”
“It’s a trade-off,” Mariah told him. “Renting a house is more private, but you lose the benefits of having a hotel maid. And if you’re not careful about cleaning up after yourself in the kitchen… Well, the variety of insect life you can attract is immense. You can’t leave anything out. Not even a plate with crumbs on it. You have to keep all the food in the refrigerator—or in plastic containers. But as long as you don’t mind doing that, it’s great.”
He nodded. “Maybe I’ll stick with room service for a while longer.”
Princess the dog inched forward and pressed her cold nose against the back of Mariah’s knee. “Yikes!” Mariah exclaimed.
“Princess, back,” the man said sharply.
“She was just playing,” Mariah protested as the dog immediately obeyed. “It’s okay—she just startled me. I don’t mind. She’s…an unusual mix.”
There was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You’re unusually tactful. But it’s okay. She’s not a mix of anything. She’s a pure mutt, and she knows it. There’s no ego involved—for either one of us.”
“She does what you say,” Mariah said. Princess gazed up at her, tongue lolling from her mouth, eyes sharp, ears alert, tail thumping slightly even though she was sitting down. She seemed to understand every word of the conversation. “That’s worth more than a pedigree.”
“She was well trained,” he told her. “I…inherited her from a friend a few years ago.”
He glanced out over the ocean as if trying to hide the sudden sadness in his eyes. Or maybe she only imagined she saw such an emotion there—when he looked back at her, it was gone.
He held out his hand. “I’m Jonathan Mills.”
His fingers were warm and large and made her own hand seem slender and practically petite. “I’m…” She hesitated for a moment, uncertain of which name to give him. “…Mariah Robinson,” she decided. It wasn’t as if she were telling a lie. It had become true. Over the past two months, she’d acted less and less like Marie Carver and more and more like Mariah Robinson. At least more like the Mariah Robinson she’d heard about from her grandmother. The Mariah her own childhood nickname had come from.
He was still holding her hand, but his gaze had dropped to her breasts again.
“Are you here for the week?” she asked.
He looked up, and for half a second, Mariah thought she saw a flash of embarrassment in his eyes—embarrassment that he’d been caught staring. But it, too, was quickly gone. This man was a master at hiding his feelings.
“I’m here until my hair grows back in,” he told her.
Mariah gently pulled her fingers free from his grip. “Well, that’s one way to handle a bad-hair