Chapter Twelve
She was an idiot. A total and complete ninny. He’d merely kissed her and she had bolted like a scared rabbit. Mortified, she wanted to turn back the clock and start over. She’d make sure they never left the patio. A mere kiss should not wreak such havoc.
Well, maybe a mere kiss was a bit of an understatement—that kiss had been unlike any she’d ever experienced. Still, she couldn’t just fall into bed with a man who kissed like that.
She closed her eyes in embarrassment. Maybe he hadn’t even wanted to go to bed.
Maybe he had been caught up in the kiss as she’d been and his hands had roved.
Wow, had they roved. Touching her in ways no one else ever had.
And provoking shimmering feelings that she’d never known existed.
Even now after fleeing like a rabbit, her body hummed.
“And now I’ve acted like the naive girl I am and he’ll probably never want to see me again. Oh, no, we’re supposed to go to that barbecue on Saturday. I’ll have to cancel. Or maybe he’ll cancel.”
The thought didn’t bring the relief she hoped for.
“How can I just treat this like nothing happened? I can’t face him again. I can’t.”
Shivering in her wet dress, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and was horrified. The dress might as well have been a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. Her breasts pushed against the damp cloth. Her skirt clung to her legs, outlining each one, molding them.
Ripping off the offending dress, she wadded it into a ball and tossed it across the room.
Running the shower, Emma stepped in, turning the water hotter and hotter until the chill began to fade.
After a few minutes she almost laughed aloud.
She’d mentioned Cinderella on the beach, but she was Cinderella in reverse.
Starting out looking nice, she ended up looking like a bag lady.
So much for romance and fantasy. Maybe that kind of thing only happened in books. Real life had a way of interfering with romance.
Sighing, she turned off the water and got out. She towel dried her hair, combing it back from her face. Dressing in her sleep shirt, she slowly wandered downstairs. Might as well do the dishes and tidy the kitchen. She hated coming into a mess in the morning.
Logan sat at the breakfast table, his long legs stretched out before him. His feet were bare, a light dusting of sand coated the tops. Looking up when she entered, his expression seemed thoughtful.
Emma stopped short. She thought he’d gone home.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She nodded, then glanced down at the sleep shirt.
“Go home, Logan,” she said.
Hair still damp and slicked back, a faded T-shirt from the university, bare feet and no makeup. No woman wants a man to see her like that, not when she’s interested in making a good impression, not scaring him to death.
“You look cute,” he said, rising.
“Cute is not the image I’m looking for,” she said petulantly.
He laughed and walked over. His forefinger tilted her chin until she faced him.
“Well, it will have to do for tonight. Warm enough, now?” he asked.
She nodded. If she opened her mouth, she’d probably start wailing at the turn of events. Did this just point out how unsuitable she was for life in the fast lane? Or was it a question of practice? Would she be in California long enough to find out?
His thumb brushed against her lips. The heat that coursed through her had nothing to do with her recent shower.
“You fascinate me,” he said slowly.
“You’re pretty fascinating yourself,” she said.
“My life is an open book.”
“Turned to one page only. What do the other pages hold?”
“Want to find out?”
She nodded, afraid yet unable to help herself. She wanted to learn everything there was to know about this man. Explore the sensations that he evoked, discover what caused this attraction, and decide what to do about it. Time was limited, experience was almost nil.
“I’ll pick you up around four on Saturday. We’ll drive to Phil’s party and enjoy ourselves, what do you say?”
Emma nodded. This encounter was going better than she’d anticipated.
And she’d not been embarrassed, after all, something about Logan made her feel different.
Things had to get easier. And she had to decide what she was going to do.
She knew Lily would never bolt from a kiss.
She probably would institute another one right now and go as far as Logan pushed.
“Good night.”
He gently brushed his lips against hers and turned.
Emma watched him walk away and she sank into a chair. Her knees seemed as weak as wet spaghetti, her heart raced, and her lips tingled. Saturday seemed a long time away.
Logan stepped out onto the patio and walked away from the light.
Pausing at the edge, he circled back and stepped close enough to peer in through the window.
Lily sat in a chair, staring out at the night.
He watched for several minutes, but when she made no move, he turned to head for home.
She hadn’t shifted an inch the entire time.
He’d give a lot to learn what thoughts tumbled around in her mind.
Gloating over getting him interested? Or was there something else going through that pretty head of hers?
He tried to remember everything he’d been told about his neighbor.
They’d met casually when she’d first moved in, only two months after he had bought his house.
Because she traveled a lot, she asked if he would keep an eye on her place, even giving him a key.
He’d done a bit more traveling in those days, and had reciprocated.
Beyond that, the entire first year he doubted if they had exchanged more than a few words.
After her return from France last summer, she’d invited him a couple of times to parties. Her friends were young and ambitious. Few were connected with the film world, which had surprised him given she played bit parts and given the success of her father.
The people he’d met at her house came from all different professions. He’d had the best conversation with a landscape architect at one party. They really clicked. He should have followed up and called Joel again.
Maybe he would and casually bring the conversation around to Lily.
He hadn’t cared to find out details about his neighbor before. But then, he hadn’t felt this strong pull of attraction. And the odd thing of feeling comfortable around her, feeling connected somehow.
Which showed he was still suffering from the rigors of jet lag.
Lily represented the epitome of the type woman he’d sworn to avoid.
Crystal had been the same. Always out for gaiety and excitement.
The more money spent, the better. The faster the car, the higher the thrills, the more Crystal craved excesses.
Superlatives. And Lily had always struck him as having a similar viewpoint of life.
Yet a lot of things didn’t add up.
And he’d swear the expression in her eyes when she’d bolted from the deck had been sheer panic. Was she leading people on? Creating some sophisticated facade to hold the wolves at bay? Feigning a level of experience to cover a lack? To hide the innocence that peeked through now and then?
Innocence? Lily had been married to that Frenchman. Vacationed on the French riviera. Logan had a hard time convincing himself that she had any innocence left.
He let himself into his house. Stopping only long enough to pour himself a snifter of brandy, he headed for his bedroom.
He needed a few more nights of rest before he was operating on all cylinders again.
Sipping the brandy, he shed his clothes, his eyes going from time to time to the light shining from her bedroom.
Innocence peeked out now and then. He recognized it, but not the reason. Was it all a game?
He had to admit she totally confused him. Every time he expected her to act one way, she acted differently. Instead of pegging her for another Crystal, she gave off conflicting signals. One moment, brash sassiness. Another, a sweetness that was almost a lost trait with the women he knew.
The thing was, he didn’t care if she were playing a game. He wanted her.
When the ride was over, if he got burned, he’d make sure it was worth it.
He stood by the window, sipping the last of the brandy.
One by one the lights downstairs flicked out.
He could imagine her progression to her bedroom.
Would she go right to sleep, or read for a while?
Did she have a television in the room? He wondered about her habits, the patterns and routines in her life.
Did they vary when she visited France? Was she methodical about some things or spontaneous in everything?
The bedroom light went out.
Slowly Logan turned and headed for his bed. Flipping on the light by the phone, he looked up her number and dialed.
Out of the service area.
What? He tried again, same result.
Scrolling through his list of contacts, he found her land line and tried that.
It rang for a long time. Had she fallen asleep so quickly?
“Hello?”
“Hey, cupcake, it’s Logan.”
“Oh, did you forget something?”
“No, just wanted to talk.”
“I was in bed.”
“I know. I can see your bedroom from mine. I saw the light go off.”
“You can see the bedroom?”
He almost laughed. For a moment he envisioned her sitting up in outrage and indignation. Probably that flash he was growing familiar with sparked in her eyes.
“Just a bit from my bedroom.”
There was a background rustle. “I don’t see any lights on at your place,” she said.
He leaned back against the headboard and flicked the light out.
“Now we are alone in the dark.”
“Not really. If you could see the kitchen window, you’d see that light on.”
“Why?”
“As far as I know this is the only land line phone in the house.”
“As far as you know?” he asked.
“And I should know, right? Can you actually see into my bedroom?” she asked.
“Why, are you wearing nothing?”
“No, I’m wearing my nightshirt.”
He chuckled at the primness in her tone. “It’s a very nice shirt, fits you so well.”
“It’s big and loose—”
“And soft cotton that clings to your body like a lover.”
“Oh.”
He smiled again, suddenly wishing he’d stayed longer. He’d love to see the confusion in her eyes, the soft shyness that sometimes flared up. The innocence.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m wearing?” he teased.
“Probably nothing,” she murmured.
“Right first time.”
“Oh-hh.” There was background noise again.
“I can’t talk anymore,” she said hastily.
“Why not?”
“I—”
The silence stretched out. Then he heard a soft click.
He laughed and tossed the phone on the bedside table. How much had been put on and how much genuine?
It didn’t matter. She knew how to push his hot buttons. Would she open the door if he stormed over right now? Or would she play coy a bit longer? He’d wait. Saturday was only two days away. Anticipation would make their coming together all the sweeter.