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Authors: Donna Vitek
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have him if he crawled to her and begged her forgiveness! If only she'd never seen him in the first place…
Forcing herself to at least appear composed, she inclined her head in greeting when she met Debra Hopkins on the path. But she clenched her fists at her sides when she heard Debra's simpering greeting to Ric.
"You're not still mad at me, are you, Patrick?" Deb cajoled, her voice nearly dripping saccharine sweetness. "If you are, maybe we could go to your cottage and make up again. Okay?"
"Sure, Deb, why not?" he answered. "In fact, that sounds like a capital idea."
"In fact, that sounds like a capital idea," Allendre mimicked furiously beneath her breath as she marched on, berating herself for falling for his charming ways even for a minute. He was utterly impossible, and she couldn't wait to forget she'd ever met him. But her shoulders drooped slightly. She suspected it wouldn't be so easy to forget how he had made her feel before she had realized exactly what he wanted from her.
Chapter Four
By nine-thirty the next morning, Allendre was on the beach. Gentle waves broke in creamy cascades on the coral-tinted sand, dragging at her feet as she gingerly waded into the water. Though it was a bit chillier than she had expected, she forged ahead, taking a deep breath as she plunged in. A brisk scissor stroke soon warmed her thoroughly, and she stretched back to float on the incredibly placid surface. Her eyes closed, she drifted back toward shore on the gentle incoming waves, but before she reached the point where she could touch bottom, she flipped over and swam out again.
Despite her weariness yesterday, she had spent a very restless night, due without a doubt to her escapade with Ric in the garden. She was no longer sure whom she despised more—him for being such an egotist, or herself for being such a gullible fool. All she knew for certain was that she had an inordinate amount of nervous energy she needed badly to expend. So she swam until the muscles in both her arms and legs rebelled achingly.
Exhausted, yet appreciably less tense, she paddled back to shore finally and sank down on her beach towel to smooth sunscreen onto her shoulders, arms, and face. Her legs she left alone for a while, allowing them to soak up the sun while she searched for tiny unbroken seashells in the sand at the edge of her towel.
Hoping to catch a nap, she closed her eyes, but the moment she did, her mind conjured up the image of Ric Shannon's face, just as it had so often during the night. "Darn," she muttered, rising to her feet to walk along the beach. In the distance, a stone fort nearly four hundred years old stood sentinel on the sand, stark and cold gray in the glimmering sunlight. Two gray, ducklike coots winged awkwardly over a reef pond, piercing the air with their squawking cries. Allendre paused for a moment; curling her toes into the damp sand at the shoreline, she stared out pensively at a schooner on the horizon, its white sails stretched taut by the wind.
She really had to forget about yesterday evening, she resolved, adjusting a strap of her sleek Persian blue maillot swimsuit. Patrick Shannon certainly wasn't worth any loss of sleep. He was undoubtedly one of those men girls had chased after since his teens, so he had simply assumed that she was chasing him, too. Well, she intended to show him just how wrong he had been. For the remainder of her stay at Shannon House, she planned to treat him with the utmost indifference whenever she had the foul luck to see him at all. Deb could trot after him if she wanted to, inflating his male ego; Allendre herself could think of better things to do.
Forcing herself to think of nothing at all, she strolled back, enjoying the caress of a breeze upon her skin. There were few other people on the beach, and those who were there were quiet. Allendre stretched out on her stomach on her towel, closed her eyes again, and drifted to sleep listening to the gentle lapping of the waves
Forcing herself to at least appear composed, she inclined her head in greeting when she met Debra Hopkins on the path. But she clenched her fists at her sides when she heard Debra's simpering greeting to Ric.
"You're not still mad at me, are you, Patrick?" Deb cajoled, her voice nearly dripping saccharine sweetness. "If you are, maybe we could go to your cottage and make up again. Okay?"
"Sure, Deb, why not?" he answered. "In fact, that sounds like a capital idea."
"In fact, that sounds like a capital idea," Allendre mimicked furiously beneath her breath as she marched on, berating herself for falling for his charming ways even for a minute. He was utterly impossible, and she couldn't wait to forget she'd ever met him. But her shoulders drooped slightly. She suspected it wouldn't be so easy to forget how he had made her feel before she had realized exactly what he wanted from her.
Chapter Four
By nine-thirty the next morning, Allendre was on the beach. Gentle waves broke in creamy cascades on the coral-tinted sand, dragging at her feet as she gingerly waded into the water. Though it was a bit chillier than she had expected, she forged ahead, taking a deep breath as she plunged in. A brisk scissor stroke soon warmed her thoroughly, and she stretched back to float on the incredibly placid surface. Her eyes closed, she drifted back toward shore on the gentle incoming waves, but before she reached the point where she could touch bottom, she flipped over and swam out again.
Despite her weariness yesterday, she had spent a very restless night, due without a doubt to her escapade with Ric in the garden. She was no longer sure whom she despised more—him for being such an egotist, or herself for being such a gullible fool. All she knew for certain was that she had an inordinate amount of nervous energy she needed badly to expend. So she swam until the muscles in both her arms and legs rebelled achingly.
Exhausted, yet appreciably less tense, she paddled back to shore finally and sank down on her beach towel to smooth sunscreen onto her shoulders, arms, and face. Her legs she left alone for a while, allowing them to soak up the sun while she searched for tiny unbroken seashells in the sand at the edge of her towel.
Hoping to catch a nap, she closed her eyes, but the moment she did, her mind conjured up the image of Ric Shannon's face, just as it had so often during the night. "Darn," she muttered, rising to her feet to walk along the beach. In the distance, a stone fort nearly four hundred years old stood sentinel on the sand, stark and cold gray in the glimmering sunlight. Two gray, ducklike coots winged awkwardly over a reef pond, piercing the air with their squawking cries. Allendre paused for a moment; curling her toes into the damp sand at the shoreline, she stared out pensively at a schooner on the horizon, its white sails stretched taut by the wind.
She really had to forget about yesterday evening, she resolved, adjusting a strap of her sleek Persian blue maillot swimsuit. Patrick Shannon certainly wasn't worth any loss of sleep. He was undoubtedly one of those men girls had chased after since his teens, so he had simply assumed that she was chasing him, too. Well, she intended to show him just how wrong he had been. For the remainder of her stay at Shannon House, she planned to treat him with the utmost indifference whenever she had the foul luck to see him at all. Deb could trot after him if she wanted to, inflating his male ego; Allendre herself could think of better things to do.
Forcing herself to think of nothing at all, she strolled back, enjoying the caress of a breeze upon her skin. There were few other people on the beach, and those who were there were quiet. Allendre stretched out on her stomach on her towel, closed her eyes again, and drifted to sleep listening to the gentle lapping of the waves
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