settled down on the floor.
A tan. Claire Marsden had a tan. His mind boggled. He simply couldn't
imagine her in a swimsuit. Another assessing glance at her. Nope,
couldn't do it. Her long-sleeved, high-necked, roomy blouse defied his
attempts to make it disappear, and, for the life of him, he couldn't
come up with a mental image of what her body might be like. Well, apart
from kind of square and boxy, like her car and her suits. Given his
many years of training and expertise in imagining women naked or in
their underwear, he decided this was another point in favor of his
argument for boredom being the cause of any…interest his body might
have displayed over the panty hose incident. Case closed. Still, her
legs were in pretty good shape…He gave himself a mental slap. What, was
he in high school again? Could he perhaps think of something that did
not pertain to the bare-legged woman sitting opposite him?
He was surprised how much effort it took for him to keep his gaze away
from those legs and that tan. Concentrating fiercely, he imagined the
next stage in restoring the antique dining table he was working on as a
surprise for his mom for Christmas. It would look great in the corner
of her living room, and he knew she would love it. Not that he'd be
there to see her reaction. His parents were expecting him to fly home Page 32
to Sydney , but he would send the table instead. He wasn't up for the
big family get-together this year. The gruff sadness of his dad, the
empty place at the table, the grief in everyone's eyes when they looked
at him and saw Robbie. Jack had enough trouble with his own grief
without dealing with the weight of theirs.
For starters, there'd be the inevitable kitchen-sink conversation with
his mom as she washed the vegetables for dinner. It was her favorite
territory for heart-to-hearts, although in a pinch she'd take whatever
venue was offered. She'd fix him with her knowing blue eyes and tell
him it had been three years now, and he needed to let go. But she
didn't know how it felt. None of them did. Then his dad would invite
him to tour the garage to check out his latest power tool acquisitions.
And in between explaining the clutch on his new hammer drill, he'd make
some kind of reference to Robbie and hope that Jack would open up. But
that was never going to happen. His grief was like a rock inside him,
granite hard and permanent, a part of him now.
No. He wasn't going home for Christmas this year. He'd find somewhere
in theCaribbeaninstead, and go scuba diving and dally with bikini-clad
tourists. His parents would understand. They'd have to. Across the car,
Claire shifted and cleared her throat.
"Do you think we should make contact with Ted again, see how things are
going?" she asked. He checked his watch. They'd been stuck in here for
an hour now. He shrugged.
"Guess it couldn't hurt."
Standing, he reached for the phone, quickly becoming aware of how much warmer it was in the top half of the car.
"I'll never bitch about air-conditioning again," he murmured as he waited for Ted to pick up.
"What did you say?"
He glanced at her, caught by the arrested expression on her face.
"Air-conditioning. Usually I don't like it—dries everything out. But
I'm beginning to understand why it's a necessary evil in a building
this size."
She gaped at him, surprise in every line of her body.
"That was true?" she said, something like awe in her voice. He frowned. What on earth was she talking about?
"What?"
She seemed to suddenly realize what she'd said. She shrugged,
elaborately casual, dropping her eyes to avoid meeting his. "Nothing.
Is Ted not answering?"
He frowned, aware that something had just happened there. He was about
to pursue it, but Ted chose that moment to pick up the phone.
Page 33
"Yes, number six?"
"Ted, we were just wondering how things are going? Rescue team in action yet? Any news on when the power might be back?"
"Negative on the power situation. Not expected to be up and
A tan. Claire Marsden had a tan. His mind boggled. He simply couldn't
imagine her in a swimsuit. Another assessing glance at her. Nope,
couldn't do it. Her long-sleeved, high-necked, roomy blouse defied his
attempts to make it disappear, and, for the life of him, he couldn't
come up with a mental image of what her body might be like. Well, apart
from kind of square and boxy, like her car and her suits. Given his
many years of training and expertise in imagining women naked or in
their underwear, he decided this was another point in favor of his
argument for boredom being the cause of any…interest his body might
have displayed over the panty hose incident. Case closed. Still, her
legs were in pretty good shape…He gave himself a mental slap. What, was
he in high school again? Could he perhaps think of something that did
not pertain to the bare-legged woman sitting opposite him?
He was surprised how much effort it took for him to keep his gaze away
from those legs and that tan. Concentrating fiercely, he imagined the
next stage in restoring the antique dining table he was working on as a
surprise for his mom for Christmas. It would look great in the corner
of her living room, and he knew she would love it. Not that he'd be
there to see her reaction. His parents were expecting him to fly home Page 32
to Sydney , but he would send the table instead. He wasn't up for the
big family get-together this year. The gruff sadness of his dad, the
empty place at the table, the grief in everyone's eyes when they looked
at him and saw Robbie. Jack had enough trouble with his own grief
without dealing with the weight of theirs.
For starters, there'd be the inevitable kitchen-sink conversation with
his mom as she washed the vegetables for dinner. It was her favorite
territory for heart-to-hearts, although in a pinch she'd take whatever
venue was offered. She'd fix him with her knowing blue eyes and tell
him it had been three years now, and he needed to let go. But she
didn't know how it felt. None of them did. Then his dad would invite
him to tour the garage to check out his latest power tool acquisitions.
And in between explaining the clutch on his new hammer drill, he'd make
some kind of reference to Robbie and hope that Jack would open up. But
that was never going to happen. His grief was like a rock inside him,
granite hard and permanent, a part of him now.
No. He wasn't going home for Christmas this year. He'd find somewhere
in theCaribbeaninstead, and go scuba diving and dally with bikini-clad
tourists. His parents would understand. They'd have to. Across the car,
Claire shifted and cleared her throat.
"Do you think we should make contact with Ted again, see how things are
going?" she asked. He checked his watch. They'd been stuck in here for
an hour now. He shrugged.
"Guess it couldn't hurt."
Standing, he reached for the phone, quickly becoming aware of how much warmer it was in the top half of the car.
"I'll never bitch about air-conditioning again," he murmured as he waited for Ted to pick up.
"What did you say?"
He glanced at her, caught by the arrested expression on her face.
"Air-conditioning. Usually I don't like it—dries everything out. But
I'm beginning to understand why it's a necessary evil in a building
this size."
She gaped at him, surprise in every line of her body.
"That was true?" she said, something like awe in her voice. He frowned. What on earth was she talking about?
"What?"
She seemed to suddenly realize what she'd said. She shrugged,
elaborately casual, dropping her eyes to avoid meeting his. "Nothing.
Is Ted not answering?"
He frowned, aware that something had just happened there. He was about
to pursue it, but Ted chose that moment to pick up the phone.
Page 33
"Yes, number six?"
"Ted, we were just wondering how things are going? Rescue team in action yet? Any news on when the power might be back?"
"Negative on the power situation. Not expected to be up and
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