Read Online Castle in the Sand by Megan Hart - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Megan Hart
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pronounced it "sair-tin," in the faint
lilt of a Scottish burr that hadn't faded though he'd spent nearly
twenty years in the United States.
"The list goes around in December."
Tracey, the most organized of them, had been
in charge of the duty roster since the Fellowship had bought the
house. Every year, she sent around a list of whose turn it was to
open the house and make it ready for their shared week. Whose
responsibility it was to shut it up at the end of the season. Who
was in charge of contacting the local realty company that handled
the rentals during the times none of them were using the house. The
list changed from year to year, so everyone had a turn.
She crossed her arms over her chest. "You
knew it was my turn to open up. I just...I just didn't realize it
was yours..."
His hair was tousled and damp. His white
T-shirt clung to him, and his jeans were dark with wet. The sudden
flash of lightning and the patter of rain told her why. He bent and
pulled a brightly colored beach towel out of a mesh bag and used it
to scrub his hair toward dryness.
"It's not. Dale had to work this weekend and
couldn't get off until later in the week. So I came in his place. I
wanted to get in a swim before dark. The storm caught me
Claire and Malcolm hadn't shared
house-opening duties since...before. She chewed on her lip for a
moment. Surrounded by their friends, with laughter and
companionship to cushion the distance between them, she'd always
been able to ignore him. Now, without anyone else around... Claire
lifted her chin. She'd be fine. In a few days, the others would be
here. Surely she could stand to be alone with Malcolm for two days.
Three at the most.
What's the worst that could happen in three
days?
"I know you're surprised to see me. And not
pleasantly." He finished with his towel and hung it on the back of
a chair, then stepped closer to her.
Claire caught a whiff of salt and sand. The
scent filled her head and made it spin. She took a deep breath and
kept her expression carefully blank.
He moved closer still until he stood directly
in front of her. His feet were bare. He'd cuffed his jeans. Her
eyes traveled the height of a body she'd once known as well as her
own, and she finally looked at his face.
He'd changed the least of them over the
years. He still had the same rounded, boyish features and
thin-lipped mouth that could quirk into a playboy's smile in an
instant. His hair was still the color of wet sand. His eyes
remained the color of the sea, sometimes green or gray or blue...or
a mixture of all three.
Malcolm tilted his head. "I wasn't sure you'd
see me."
How could she have ever thought she'd be able
to ignore him? Claire backed away until she hit the edge of the
counter. "Of course I see you. This is the only place we ever see
each other." Anymore. It hadn't always been that way...
He nodded. "I always see you here. But,
Claire, you never see me."
Claire's jaw clenched, and she forced herself
to relax. "Don't be silly."
He came closer and lifted a hand, as though
unable to help himself. He touched the length of her hair, which
had come loose from its ponytail and now draped over her shoulder.
His fingers caught in the strands, tangled, tugged.
Claire jerked away from his touch, then
stalked past him toward the tiny living room. Her heart pounded so
hard in her chest she thought it was going to leap right out of her
skin. Her head spun. Chills ran up and down her spine, rapidly,
like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. She took in a breath, then
another, but couldn't seem to fill her lungs. She was going to
faint. What was wrong with her?
She shook her head furiously, like a dog
shaking off water, and bit her tongue. Sharp pain gave her focus.
Her knees still shook, a little, but she straightened them along
with her back.
"I didn't mean to upset you," Malcolm said
from behind her. "Claire, believe me, I didn't."
Her
lilt of a Scottish burr that hadn't faded though he'd spent nearly
twenty years in the United States.
"The list goes around in December."
Tracey, the most organized of them, had been
in charge of the duty roster since the Fellowship had bought the
house. Every year, she sent around a list of whose turn it was to
open the house and make it ready for their shared week. Whose
responsibility it was to shut it up at the end of the season. Who
was in charge of contacting the local realty company that handled
the rentals during the times none of them were using the house. The
list changed from year to year, so everyone had a turn.
She crossed her arms over her chest. "You
knew it was my turn to open up. I just...I just didn't realize it
was yours..."
His hair was tousled and damp. His white
T-shirt clung to him, and his jeans were dark with wet. The sudden
flash of lightning and the patter of rain told her why. He bent and
pulled a brightly colored beach towel out of a mesh bag and used it
to scrub his hair toward dryness.
"It's not. Dale had to work this weekend and
couldn't get off until later in the week. So I came in his place. I
wanted to get in a swim before dark. The storm caught me
Claire and Malcolm hadn't shared
house-opening duties since...before. She chewed on her lip for a
moment. Surrounded by their friends, with laughter and
companionship to cushion the distance between them, she'd always
been able to ignore him. Now, without anyone else around... Claire
lifted her chin. She'd be fine. In a few days, the others would be
here. Surely she could stand to be alone with Malcolm for two days.
Three at the most.
What's the worst that could happen in three
days?
"I know you're surprised to see me. And not
pleasantly." He finished with his towel and hung it on the back of
a chair, then stepped closer to her.
Claire caught a whiff of salt and sand. The
scent filled her head and made it spin. She took a deep breath and
kept her expression carefully blank.
He moved closer still until he stood directly
in front of her. His feet were bare. He'd cuffed his jeans. Her
eyes traveled the height of a body she'd once known as well as her
own, and she finally looked at his face.
He'd changed the least of them over the
years. He still had the same rounded, boyish features and
thin-lipped mouth that could quirk into a playboy's smile in an
instant. His hair was still the color of wet sand. His eyes
remained the color of the sea, sometimes green or gray or blue...or
a mixture of all three.
Malcolm tilted his head. "I wasn't sure you'd
see me."
How could she have ever thought she'd be able
to ignore him? Claire backed away until she hit the edge of the
counter. "Of course I see you. This is the only place we ever see
each other." Anymore. It hadn't always been that way...
He nodded. "I always see you here. But,
Claire, you never see me."
Claire's jaw clenched, and she forced herself
to relax. "Don't be silly."
He came closer and lifted a hand, as though
unable to help himself. He touched the length of her hair, which
had come loose from its ponytail and now draped over her shoulder.
His fingers caught in the strands, tangled, tugged.
Claire jerked away from his touch, then
stalked past him toward the tiny living room. Her heart pounded so
hard in her chest she thought it was going to leap right out of her
skin. Her head spun. Chills ran up and down her spine, rapidly,
like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. She took in a breath, then
another, but couldn't seem to fill her lungs. She was going to
faint. What was wrong with her?
She shook her head furiously, like a dog
shaking off water, and bit her tongue. Sharp pain gave her focus.
Her knees still shook, a little, but she straightened them along
with her back.
"I didn't mean to upset you," Malcolm said
from behind her. "Claire, believe me, I didn't."
Her
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