* * *
Holly placed her writing pad and pencil on the floor of the screened porch, picked up her ice water, and continued swaying on the porch swing.
Concentrating on a fund-raising letter for Lemon Aid was next to impossible when the memory of Evan Jamieson’s wolf whistle kept interrupting her thoughts. An extra flood of heat rushed to her sunburned face when she thought about how willing she’d been for his kiss. Eager, even.
She lifted her legs and stretched them across the wooden slats, placing her feet on the opposite arm rest. As soon as Annie got here with the groceries, Holly would discuss the possibility of moving to another secluded rental. Fat chance, though, of finding a rental for August. She had lucked into this place several weeks ago only because she knew Annie. People had reserved Cape Shell houses as far back as last summer. It looked as if she might be stuck in Evan’s backyard. She pressed the plastic tumbler to her temple and blew at the irritating strands of hair sticking to her face. There was barely a breeze, and a land breeze at that, to move the hair that had slipped from her ponytail. Her gaze strayed to the sliding glass doors across the patio. One thing was for sure—she didn’t want another heated exchange with Evan Jamieson.
As if on cue the sliding door opened, and out stepped Evan. Holly dropped a foot to the floor, stilling the swing. It was like seeing him for the first time all over again; she couldn’t take her eyes off him. His hair was wet and slicked back, making it easy for her to remember how he’d looked emerging from the ocean. The crisp, dark hair dusting his body had glistened with ocean water. Shorts and a T-shirt now covered his tall, broad-shouldered body. His reddish-tan skin reminded her of a lifeguard she’d drooled over as a teenager.
One wet lock of hair fell over his forehead, and with casual precision Evan smoothed it back from his incredibly blue eyes—bluer now because of the heightened color of his face.
Mesmerized, she watched as he entered the storage shed next to his house. After a loud crash and several cuss words, he wheeled out a barbecue grill. In a few moments he’d lifted the lid, turned on two knobs and smiled. And he didn’t even bother to glance toward her cottage before he reentered his house. Not that it mattered to her, she reminded herself. She snatched up her pad and pencil, then leaned back and waited.
A short time later the slider opened again. Evan stepped outside with everything needed for a cook- out piled high on a tray. Holly dropped the pad and pencil once again, and slowly sat up. She was never going to get the letter roughed out. And now what was he doing? Straining her neck, she saw him placing the tray on the table, opening the table’s umbrella, then arranging plates and eating utensils. For two. Two? He had a dinner guest coming?
Both of Holly’s feet hit the floor along with the plastic glass of ice water she’d been holding. He was walking toward her with a bottle of beer in each hand. She didn’t know if the shiver she felt was from the icy splash from her tumbler, or from his presence. The last time Evan Jamieson was close, they’d almost kissed.
"Hello in there." He pressed his nose to the screened door. "Care to join me for a beer and some sparkling conversation? Dinner’ll be ready in about half an hour, and you’re invited."
"Dinner?"
His cheerful, confident tone continued. "Yes, you know. Comes between lunch and a midnight snack."
Ignoring her wet leg, she pushed herself up from the swing and walked casually toward him. "All this for an autograph, Jamieson?"
Laughing, he leaned one elbow against the door- jamb. "I’m not asking for your autograph. I’m asking for your company at dinner. What do you say?"
"I’d sooner eat sand."
"Hilary, your beer’s getting warm."
"My name is not Hilary. It’s Holly Hamilton, and I didn’t agree to have dinner with you. I want you to go away. Now." She moved toward the screen door leading from the porch into the cottage.
"Holly Hamilton," he repeated. "Will it be Holly Hamilton tomorrow too? Or should I just call you the Glory Girl?"
"Go away!" She walked into the house, letting the inside door bang behind her.
Evan took a deep breath. He wasn’t about to barge into her house, even if he owned it. Not yet, anyway. But, come hell or high water, they were going to talk.
"I said, ‘should I just call you the Glory Girl?’"
Holly was out of the house and across the porch in two seconds. "Shhhhh! Do you want the whole Jersey shore to know I’m here?" she whispered, her hands flailing in the air.
"Would that get you outside?" His tone softened. "Glory Girl, I need to explain a few things, and so do you. Would you have dinner with me?"
Holly rubbed the back of her wet leg with her toes while she mulled over his words. It was his property; he didn’t have to go away. In fact, he could order her to leave at any time. Or make an announcement to the press that she was here. She sighed deeply. He sounded so sincere, so normal. She stared past him at the cloudless sky. The smell of the nearby ocean mingled with his after-shave. If she didn’t watch herself, she’d be giving him a second chance. She nibbled the inside of her lip. At that moment her stomach rumbled noisily.
"I heard that," he teased.
"Annie’s supposed to have delivered my groceries by now," she said when her stomach growled again. "I’ll be out in a minute, and I’m only doing this because I’m starving."
A few minutes later Evan watched her, dressed again in caftan, hat, and dark glasses, walk across the patio and sit down on a lounger. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and sipped his beer. She looked as if she’d just fallen out of a piñata. Her arms were wound tightly around her waist and, crossing one leg over the other, she began tapping the patio incessantly with her foot.
He squinted toward a willow, taking note of its barely moving branches. "Warm enough?" he asked, gesturing toward her garb with his beer bottle. "Wind chill’s got to be all of about ninety-five degrees." He bowed gallantly while she picked up a chunk of bread and bit off a piece. "But, if you’d like to move closer to the fire…"
"Just cut the comedy and keep your voice down," she said in an alarmed whisper as she motioned with the bread. Most of the houses on the populated sections of the barrier island had been built closely together, but this was not the case for the Jamieson property. Evan’s fenced land was situated on a corner and bordered by two empty lots. Even so, someone could be walking by this very second.
Evan set his beer on the table, scratched his head, and pulled a chair closer to her. Straddling it, he sat down and spoke softly. "Holly, I just arrived in town this morning, dropped my things at the house here and headed right out for Dune Island Beach. I swear to you, the first time I saw that poster was after you saw it. What is going on?"
She made a disgusted sound with her tongue and shook her head. "Why are you still pretending you don’t know?"
"Pretending I don’t know what? That Sea and Sun Interiors hung a poster of you in my spare bedroom when they redecorated last month? That I just took a shower with a bar of soap wrapped in your picture? Look, I’ve been out of the country for the last few months, but I still appreciate an American beauty when I see one, whether her picture’s hanging on my wall or she’s lying on a beach or sitting next to me." He reached out and took her hand. "What I can’t understand is why all of this subterfuge?"
His hand was still cool from holding the bottle of beer. Suddenly she found herself fighting the urge to press his palm to her cheek. She didn’t see a spark of dishonesty in those big blue eyes of his, only concern. Then he squeezed her hand, and all the vinegar on the tip of her tongue turned to honey. "You really don’t know, do you?"
He shook his head slowly. "I really don’t."
"Evan, because of that poster, I’ve become the flavor of the month. The summer! I’m fair game for any weirdo who comes along, and believe me, there are plenty of them. In a bar on Sixty-second Street that poster of me has been turned into a dart board. It has it’s own Facebook page. I’ve even had a male rep
orter follow me into a public rest room." She watched his eyebrows lift in surprise. She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. "It’s true. And my parents called me last week to tell me about some church group in the Bible Belt insisting the poster be banned because it’s warping their children’s minds." She pulled off her sunglasses. "Their children’s minds," she repeated. "Do you have any idea how humiliating this is?" She leaned in toward him. "I don’t want to be in People magazine or on ET, all I want is to be left alone to get on with the rest of my life."
Evan squeezed her hand. "Holly, humiliating isn’t the word I’d use to describe the poster. I think it’s absolutely gorgeous. It’s sweet, it’s sassy, it’s romantic, it’s innocent, it’s—"
"Innocent, my butt!"
"That too." He tried hard not to smile as that gorgeous tush of hers appeared in his mind’s eye once again.
Holly jumped to her feet. "Evan!"
"Calm down, calm down." He was still holding her hand, and she sank back at his tugging. The brazen blue of his eyes softened with self- reproach. "Forget about the adjectives. Tell me why you posed for it in the first place. I mean, if you felt so opposed to it, why did you do it?"
If his tone had communicated anything but honest interest, she would have screamed. The laugh lines around his eyes deepened with concern when she didn’t answer immediately. Suddenly she wished she could tell him everything. For now at least, she would tell him what she could.
"Evan, that’s just it. I wasn’t posing for the poster. It was about two years ago during the shoot for the Morning Glory bath products line. I was getting ready for the shampoo shot. I stood up to position the shower nozzle, and Stu called my name. By the time I heard the shutter clicking, it was too late. Stu promised he’d destroy the negative. I trusted him."
"Stu? Can’t you sue this Stu guy? Isn’t this photographer bound by some release you signed to use the photos only for the product?"
Holly rubbed her forehead. "At the time, this ‘Stu guy’ was my husband. What started as a piece of fun for him has turned into a very lucrative business move. You see, before the divorce I was his chief source of income. He hated losing my face and body." Holly winced. That had to be the most conceited statement ever made. "I know that sounds pretty awful, but I’m not talking about his emotional pain when I left him. I’m talking about the business part of our marriage. He was angry and insisted that if I wanted the divorce, he wanted all legal claims to my Morning Glory contract. By then I wanted out of the marriage so badly that I ignored my lawyer’s warnings and signed it all over to him."
The lines forming between Evan’s eyebrows were deep and numerous. He probably thought she was the biggest fool who ever drew a breath. What was she doing telling this man about one of the worst periods of her life? She’d known Evan Jamieson less than half a day. Blood pounded painfully in her temples.
Evan got up and handed her the beer he’d opened for her. He turned his back and made a business of adjusting the flame in the grill. "You don’t have to explain the end of a marriage, Holly. I’ve been there myself."
She found herself staring at the sunburn on the back of his neck, and then her gaze strayed to the tender reddened skin behind his ears. Her Sir Galahad of the parking lot knew hurt, too, and it went deeper than his sunburn. She hadn’t missed the slightly bitter edge to his voice.
Evan forked on two steaks. "Doesn’t Morning Glory Soap object to any of this?"
"I wish. Stu airbrushed the prop on the poster so it doesn’t match the soap company’s morning glory. And, according to my lawyer, they couldn’t be happier. Their sales have increased dramatically since the poster came out."
"Holly, I still don’t understand why you’re hiding. You’re a model. You gave up a certain amount of privacy along the way. What’s the big deal?" He turned back to her when she didn’t answer. Her spine had stiffened, and her lips were trembling the tiniest bit.
"But I’m not a model anymore. I want all of that to be over."
Evan shrugged. "Then allow it to be over. Give the media and the fans what they want. Do a few interviews and, before you know it, they’ll move on to someone else. You’re adding fuel to your own fire by tantalizing them with your absence."
"You don’t understand. Stuart took… something from me… and I want it back."
"What was it?" Evan asked quietly. "What did he take?"
"Maybe the opportunity to do something worthwhile with my life. There are certain plans I’ve…" She paused before blurting out angrily, "He’s taken my dignity."
Evan considered her impassioned statement. He turned the steaks, searing them with a sizzling hiss. "Dignity, when you get right down to it, is a very subjective concept."
"Then you understand perfectly."
He rolled his eyes to the sky, then back to her. An initial embarrassment he could understand, but only she knew the depth of her "humiliation." He’d be damned if he understood it. He watched as her chin lifted a little higher, a little too high. Then it hit him like a crosswind. She wasn’t telling him all of it. There was something she was leaving out. Something that made her eyes glisten and her chin almost quiver. Something that had to do with her ex-husband, Stuart Hamilton.
Instantly Evan’s heart went out to her. Trust me, Holly, he wanted to say, but he didn’t. After a divorce, allowing yourself to trust again was the scariest thing of all. He wouldn’t cajole her into telling him either. He wouldn’t tell her about the ugliness of his own divorce. That was positively the last thing she needed to hear and, besides, it was the last thing he wanted to talk about. In fact, he’d never talked about it with anyone.
"So, what about your plans?" he asked evenly.
Holly stood up, opened a carton, and began spooning potato salad onto his plate. "To stay right here," she mumbled.
He wasn’t asking her about her immediate plans. He was asking about the plans her ex had somehow messed up, about the opportunity to do something "worthwhile." Had she deliberately skirted his question? He decided not to press. All in good time, he silently reminded himself. "Your plans are to stay right here? You mean, right here inside the fence, inside the cottage?" he said.
"You got it. By the way, I like my steak medium rare."
"You’re joking?"
She gave him a queer look. "No, I really like my steak medium rare."
He set the barbecue tongs on the table, then picked up his beer. "Holly, I mean about staying here inside the fence. That’s no way to spend your vacation. You simply can’t do that."
She shoved the spoon into the carton and set it back on the table. Just as she’d thought. Once he’d heard about the tacky incident, he would want her gone. And what she’d told him wasn’t the half of it. Folding her arms across her middle, she turned to face him. "Vacation?!" she exploded. "This isn’t a vacation, Evan. Can’t you understand that this is a self-imposed exile, that I’m in hiding until the world turns enough to expose someone else’s butt. Meanwhile, I want to remind you that I’ve paid my rent."
Her dander was up again; this woman was not about to succumb to a bout of weepiness, Evan noted happily. "Hiding? Is that what you were attempting on a public beach this afternoon while wearing an orange bathing suit cut up to the equator? Then covering it with that thingamajig?"
"Dolce & Gabbana does not design thingamajigs. Besides, I didn’t bring attention to myself this afternoon rubbing suntan oil all over my chest!" They stood toe-to-toe, glaring at each other, when someone rapped on the gate.
Holly’s immediate response was to grab Evan by the shoulders and slouch to the level of his chest. "Oh my God! They’ve found me," she whispered frantically.
"Ow! My sunburn."
Holly pulled her hands from his shoulders. "Sorry," she whispered, then turned and ran for her cottage.
That was the second time today she’d disappeared in a whirl of turquoise, Evan noted. He set his beer beside the salad and went to the gate. "Yes?"
"Evan? Is that you?" The owner of the
voice gave a quick laugh and, before he could answer, continued, "It’s Annie. What are you doing here? Never mind. First just help me. I can’t juggle a box of groceries and work the latch too."
Evan opened the gate, and his hands were immediately filled with a box of groceries.
Annie stepped inside. "I thought you were in Peru."
"I own the place, remember?"
Ignoring the question, she asked one of her own. "Where is she?"
"In the cottage. Didn’t Ashlee tell you not to rent this month?"
The trim, five-foot brunette in jeans and a Bruce Springsteen T-shirt held her ground. A sly grin creased her face. "You complaining or thanking me?"
Evan heaved a sigh. Annie knew him too well, and he could no more bluster her today than he could during their childhood. Besides, she’d proved more than satisfactory as a rental agent and friend over the years. "Me? Complain? Where did complaining ever get me with you?"
"Nowhere, handsome. Your secretary’s doing her job. She called a while back and said the big house was being redecorated and that you didn’t want either house put on the rental market for the rest of the summer."
"But you went ahead and rented the cottage."
All traces of humor disappeared from Annie’s expression. "Only the cottage. Evan, Holly’s in a real mess right now. She’s been my closest friend since junior high. Tell me you and I aren’t going to part company over this."
"Of course not. But what’s her story?" He motioned with his chin. "Her real story."
Annie looked past Evan toward the cottage. "Best friends keep secrets. You’ll have to hear it from her, if and when she wants to tell you. Besides, if I told you what her ex-husband’s done, you wouldn’t believe it."
Evan studied the short brunette. "It’s not just that poster, is it?"
"Of course not. Once Holly had a moment to cool down, even she admitted it was pretty cute."
Holly shot past both of them, slammed the gate, and latched it.
"Annie, I thought you said I’d be alone."
Annie looked back and forth at the both of them as if they were crazy. "Hi, Annie. Great to see you, Annie. You did a great job with the last tenants, old friend. Thanks for helping me out in a pinch, dear."
Holly exchanged a sideways glance with Evan before she spoke. "Guess I’m sounding ungrateful. I’m a little jumpy. Bad day at the beach."
Annie held up her hands. "Bad day at the beach? Nonsense. No one has a bad day at the beach. That’s bad for tourism." Annie gave her a hug. "Deep breath. Relax. Has Mr. Electric-Blue Eyes here been threatening you with eviction or something?" Both women looked at Evan.
"Hey, don’t look at me. I’m just the porter around here. Where do you want this stuff?"
"Put it in her house," Annie said. Evan started to walk away. "And put the perishables in her refrigerator."
"If it’s not too much trouble, maybe somebody could turn the steaks," he called over his shoulder.
Holly hurried to the grill, snatched up the tongs and turned over the meat. "I have the address list for donations in my laptop for Lemon Aid. They’re supposed to be sending me mailing labels with their logo. You will let me know as soon as they arrive, won’t you?"
"As your mail collector, I do solemnly swear."
"Thanks. You know, at this stage in my life I thought I’d be doing a lot more for Lemon Aid than printing out address labels. I’m not really complaining about it, but I miss working in the Manhattan office. You know—"
Annie wagged her finger. "I’ll tell you what I know. You’ve rearranged your life to help Lemon Aid. To help kids. You’ll never be satisfied just licking envelopes and slapping on address labels. That’s why you’ve got to do something about Stu and his threat."
"He hasn’t called you, has he?"
Annie shook her head.
"That’s good. I’m sure he would have if he thought I was down here." Holly stared off into space for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I think that’s a good sign."
"Holly, no communication is not necessarily a good sign when it comes to that snake in the grass. You’ve got to talk to him sooner or later."
Holly waved off the direction Annie’s conversation was taking. "I can’t think about Stu right now. Annie, I didn’t sign a lease on this place. I think I could be homeless really fast here. Is Evan going to kick me out?"
"I doubt it."
"But if he does, what are my chances of finding another place?"
Annie’s eyebrows lifted and held. "Slim to none. Look, you’d have nothing to worry about if you’d move in with us until you’ve settled this mess. Hasn’t this solitary confinement taught you anything?"
"To appreciate my prison fan mail more."
"Ah, Holly, Tony means it when he says he’d love to have you."
"Your husband is one in a million, but I can’t. I’d spend all my time hiding in your bathroom. Your neighbors and family drop in like snowflakes in February." She moved the steaks onto the holding rack above the grill. "What I have to do is convince ‘Mr. Electric-Blue Eyes,’ as you call him, to let me stay."
"You never met him, did you? All the girls called him that when he was a teenager. By the time you started coming down to the shore, he’d already gone off to a university out west. Then he married out there, and she never liked it back here. She said Martha’s Vineyard was more her style. They’re divorced now."
"Any kids?"
"None. I think he wanted them, but she never seemed interested." Annie rubbed her brow. "I can’t remember her name. Let me think a minute."
So Evan Jamieson had wanted children and his ex didn’t. How sadly familiar that situation was, she thought.
"I remember now. Her name was Patricia, and when Peter was just a baby he had the good manners to wet all over her."
Holly didn’t bother to stifle her burst of laughter, and Annie soon joined her. When they’d both stopped, Holly asked, "Did you ever date him?"
Annie shook her head. "Back then I was too young by about six years. But I use to bug the hell out of him and his brothers and friends. Some of them dated my older sisters. I’d follow them up on the boardwalk and pop up when they least wanted me."
"That she did," Evan affirmed as he rejoined them. "Those were the days, weren’t they, Annie? Pizza from Rossella’s stand on the boardwalk, our pockets filled with tokens for the arcade games, and, if you got lucky, a blanket under the boards."
Annie gave him a thoughtful look. "Things haven’t changed much. You ought to get yourself up there. Lucky Duck has a few new games I think you’d like to try." She walked backward to the gate and opened it. "Then you can bring Holly some of Rossella’s pizza. Hey, I’ve got to run." The gate clicked shut.
Holly looked at Evan and narrowed her eyes. "What are you smiling about?"
"The boardwalk," he said, lifting the steaks onto their plates. "I haven’t been there in years."
"Oh. Neither have I." She wrapped her arms around her waist and shook her head wistfully. "The ocean breeze. The smells. The sounds. The people. Nothing compares to that boardwalk on a hot summer night."
"Nothing," he agreed. He pulled out her chair and motioned for her to sit down. "Holly, I think I understand why you’ve chosen to exile yourself in Cape Shell."
"You do?"
"It’s because of Annie, because you trust her." Evan watched her mouth soften and her shoulders relax. He felt an almost smug satisfaction. She would eventually tell him the real problem behind her exile, and whatever that problem was, he was going to help her with it. He was good at solving problems, damn good, and he’d never had such a beautiful client before. Propping his elbow on the table, he rested his chin in his hand and waited. Soon she would trust him.
"You’re right. I have plenty of friends in and out of this country, but none that I trust like Annie. We’ve been through so much together. You know, we bought our first lipsticks together. I was her maid of honor, and she even…" Holly stopped. She wasn’t about to tell Evan
about Annie’s warning not to marry Stuart. Holly reached for the bottle of steak sauce and shook it vigorously.
Evan had always believed in facing problems head-on. Hiding away on the Jersey coast didn’t seem right. Not for Holly Hamilton, at least. From the short time he’d spent with her, he’d already decided she was a gutsy woman. A woman who needed to be getting on with her life. "Holly, I don’t know if this is going to work."
A piece of potato almost made it to Holly’s mouth before she replaced it on her plate. He wanted her to leave and to take her half-told tawdry little problems with her. For the next minute the loudest sound was that of two impatient sea gulls perched on the gate’s lampposts. As they screeched for food, their determined cries began to grate on Holly’s nerves.
Evan continued to rest his chin in his hand. "Okay, what is it? What’s got you so"—he fluttered his other hand—"so quiet all of a sudden?"
"Mmmm. Nothing," she replied in monotone. "This is so delicious. The steak’s perfect. And you were very nice to ask me to dinner."
He smiled stiffly at her response. This strawberry- blond, green-eyed beauty was challenging his control in more ways than one. "If there’s anything I can do to help you, if you need anything, all you have to do is ask."
She looked at him uncertainly. It appeared he wasn’t kicking her out tonight. "Well, maybe there is something."
Evan folded his hands, rested them on the edge of the table, and leaned forward. Now he was getting somewhere. "Yes? Go ahead."
"Well. I don’t know how to say this without sounding demanding."
He leaned forward a little more and nodded. "It’s all right, Holly. Feel free to just speak your mind."
"That old air conditioner in my cottage conked out three days ago. I was wondering if you had an extra fan I could use."
Evan exhaled, closed his eyes, and slumped back against his chair. "A fan? You need a fan? That’s it?"
"Yes."
"I’ll get you a fan." He rubbed his forehead. It was obvious that she didn’t trust him. Not yet, anyway. What he needed to do, he supposed, was to show her how. He’d simply have to open up to her. "I’ll be right back," he explained, leaving the table and heading into his house. In a few minutes he returned to the patio.
"I thought you went to get the fan."
"Later. Holly, we need to talk some more."
Her jaws suddenly clamped shut on a mouthful of food as he placed her car keys beside her plate. Confusion clouded her eyes, and then she started chewing and swallowing at a rapid rate. When her mouth was empty, she swiped at her lips with a paper napkin and pushed up from the table.
"How long were you planning on keeping these?" she asked, snatching them from the table.
"Not too long."
She turned and headed for her cottage, managing to trip over the hose for the second time that evening.
Evan shot to his feet. "Hold on a minute. I’m not sorry I took them."
She whirled around. "Not sorry?! My mother was right, I never should have accepted a ride with a stranger."
"Holly."
He’d lowered his voice, and in doing so, tapped into her spiraling emotions, scattering her fury like hot air. What was it about him that drove her nuts? And what was it about him that demanded sanity?
"Yes?"
He walked over to where she stood, picked up the hose, and tossed it toward the far side of the patio. "Keeping the keys wasn’t so terrible, once you understand why I did it."
He slid his fingers under her chin. "Look at me. That’s it." He smiled, and she found herself taking an extra breath. "It’s true what I told you in the car. I saw you looking at me today on the beach. And I was looking back. I wanted to meet you, but before I could think of a non-moronic way to do it, you’d left."
"Evan—"
He held up his other hand. "So I’m not sorry I kept the keys. Keeping them seemed like the only chance I had to spend time with you. I’m giving them back now because I want to begin this relationship in total honesty."
"Relationship? But Evan, you don’t understand."
"Trust me, Holly, because sooner or later, I intend to understand everything."
"I can’t—"
He leaned down. "Shhh. I’m going to kiss you."
"Ohh."
As his mouth closed over hers, a shiver of excitement swept through her. A part of her had been waiting for this kiss since he’d held her against the bedroom wall, and maybe even before then. Responding to his kiss was the easy part, controlling her response was not. As he drew her closer, enfolding her in his arms, she fought the urge to reach up and sink her fingers into his hair, to part her lips for his gently probing tongue, to moan from the want of sweet surrender.
Blood raced through his body at a pounding speed. He hadn’t had such a lightning-quick reaction to a kiss since his teens. He broke the kiss slowly, pulling back finally when she opened her eyes. Maybe it was the sun and salt air that made him feel this way, he reasoned, looking at Holly’s sunburned nose and soft smile. Or perhaps it was the memories this place evoked, he reasoned further, looking at her slightly parted lips. He looked her up and down and felt something catch in his stomach. The reason he felt this way wasn’t because of a yesterday, it was because of Holly.
How quickly he’d caught on. Evan Jamieson, pooh-pooher of horoscopes, scoffer of biorhythms, skeptic of all "proven" miracles, was being struck by the proverbial thunderbolt. Kismet existed, born again in Holly’s jade-green eyes. There was a hunger there he suspected would have shocked her if she could have seen it. There were clouds there, too, but no one could deny the glorious fact that Holly Hamilton needed him. As a friend, a confidant… and a lover. For now he’d have to convince her that he would be her friend. Soon, he’d be her confidant. Later, when it was right, he would be her lover. He knew in this moment that it was a fait accompli.
"You can trust me. Believe me. You can depend on me like you depend on Annie, only I’ll be right across the patio. For the rest of the summer. And if I have to go to my North Jersey office, I’m just a phone call away."
A slow smile of relief lit her face. "You mean it? I can stay?"
It wasn’t the response he’d hoped for or even the explanation he wanted to hear. It wasn’t the cathartic rush of words he needed to hear, either, but it was a step in the right direction. Forward. "Yes, you can stay."