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Authors: Sarah Mayberry
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than one night from a man like Nate was the emotional equivalent of playing Russian roulette.
She might have had a reckless moment, but she wasn’t a reckless person.
N ATE ARRIVED AT THE PUB shortly after six. The surf had been going off out at Kitty Miller Bay in the morning and he’d caught a lift out there with Tommy, then mowed the yard in the early afternoon. When he’d finished, he’d strung the old hammock between the studio and the liquid amber tree and sucked down a few beers in the drowsy afternoon heat.
Not a bad way to spend a day. If only he could stop his brain from thinking. Five minutes on his own without distraction and Olivia was there, filling his mind, tightening his gut, making him want to tear the world apart.
When beer alone didn’t work its usual magic, he’d showered and pulled on a pair of jeans and a clean T-shirt and walked to the pub. There was more beer to be had there, of course—but the real lure was Elizabeth Mason. She of the sweet behind and soft, lily-white skin. In all the weeks he’d been holed up on the island, she was the first person or thing that had successfully distracted him from the mess in his own head long enough to offer any relief. He wasn’t sure what it was that fascinated him so much. The apparent contradiction between her prim, conservative demeanor and the way she’d moaned in his arms? Her clipped British accent? The flashes of vulnerability and uncertainty he saw in her eyes?
She was a mystery. Perhaps that was all it was. An unknown quantity, an exotic, pale, well-spoken stranger in a world of nut-brown bodies, flat vowels, and sun and surf. Whatever. The important thing was that when he was with her he wasn’t thinking about anything or anyone else.
She was sitting in the far corner with her English friends from the previous night when he entered the bar. She had her hair up again, neatly bound as though she was about to take dictation or chair a charity meeting. She was sitting straight, her posture perfect, with not even an elbow resting on the table. He smiled to himself as he ordered a beer. He bet she never slouched. Probably never swore, either, or jaywalked, or ate dessert before finishing her vegetables or cheated on her taxes.
Her head came up and her gaze searched the bar as if she could feel him watching her. Their eyes met and locked. He reached into the front pocket of his jeans and tugged out a couple of inches of the scrap of pale blue silk and lace she’d left behind this morning. He raised his eyebrows in question.
“Yours?” he mouthed.
He had to bite back a laugh at her response. She jerked in her seat, then a rich tide of red rose up her chest and into her face. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, then she shot to her feet as though she was rocket propelled. He watched the bounce of her breasts as she marched toward him.
“You are disgusting,” she said as she snatched her panties from his pocket and screwed them into a tight ball in her hand. “How dare you?”
He’d meant to tease her, but he could see that she was genuinely upset.
“Hey, Betty. Steady on,” he said. He reached out to touch her arm but she jerked away from him.
Her hand was white-knuckle tight as she clenched it around her panties.
“I trusted you. Which makes me a fool, I see now. I thought last night was something private, between the two of us. How very naive and stupid of me.”
“I’m sorry, okay? Don’t get so hot under the collar. It was a joke.”
“To you, perhaps. But now all the people in the bar know I slept with you last night. God only knows what they think of me.”
Nate frowned. It had been a joke. A tease. No way had he expected her to react so strongly. Then he thought about her modesty this morning and realized that perhaps he should have. Clearly, she was a woman who worried about things like appearances and reputation. He bet himself a thousand bucks that she’d messed up her sheets this morning so that the
She might have had a reckless moment, but she wasn’t a reckless person.
N ATE ARRIVED AT THE PUB shortly after six. The surf had been going off out at Kitty Miller Bay in the morning and he’d caught a lift out there with Tommy, then mowed the yard in the early afternoon. When he’d finished, he’d strung the old hammock between the studio and the liquid amber tree and sucked down a few beers in the drowsy afternoon heat.
Not a bad way to spend a day. If only he could stop his brain from thinking. Five minutes on his own without distraction and Olivia was there, filling his mind, tightening his gut, making him want to tear the world apart.
When beer alone didn’t work its usual magic, he’d showered and pulled on a pair of jeans and a clean T-shirt and walked to the pub. There was more beer to be had there, of course—but the real lure was Elizabeth Mason. She of the sweet behind and soft, lily-white skin. In all the weeks he’d been holed up on the island, she was the first person or thing that had successfully distracted him from the mess in his own head long enough to offer any relief. He wasn’t sure what it was that fascinated him so much. The apparent contradiction between her prim, conservative demeanor and the way she’d moaned in his arms? Her clipped British accent? The flashes of vulnerability and uncertainty he saw in her eyes?
She was a mystery. Perhaps that was all it was. An unknown quantity, an exotic, pale, well-spoken stranger in a world of nut-brown bodies, flat vowels, and sun and surf. Whatever. The important thing was that when he was with her he wasn’t thinking about anything or anyone else.
She was sitting in the far corner with her English friends from the previous night when he entered the bar. She had her hair up again, neatly bound as though she was about to take dictation or chair a charity meeting. She was sitting straight, her posture perfect, with not even an elbow resting on the table. He smiled to himself as he ordered a beer. He bet she never slouched. Probably never swore, either, or jaywalked, or ate dessert before finishing her vegetables or cheated on her taxes.
Her head came up and her gaze searched the bar as if she could feel him watching her. Their eyes met and locked. He reached into the front pocket of his jeans and tugged out a couple of inches of the scrap of pale blue silk and lace she’d left behind this morning. He raised his eyebrows in question.
“Yours?” he mouthed.
He had to bite back a laugh at her response. She jerked in her seat, then a rich tide of red rose up her chest and into her face. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, then she shot to her feet as though she was rocket propelled. He watched the bounce of her breasts as she marched toward him.
“You are disgusting,” she said as she snatched her panties from his pocket and screwed them into a tight ball in her hand. “How dare you?”
He’d meant to tease her, but he could see that she was genuinely upset.
“Hey, Betty. Steady on,” he said. He reached out to touch her arm but she jerked away from him.
Her hand was white-knuckle tight as she clenched it around her panties.
“I trusted you. Which makes me a fool, I see now. I thought last night was something private, between the two of us. How very naive and stupid of me.”
“I’m sorry, okay? Don’t get so hot under the collar. It was a joke.”
“To you, perhaps. But now all the people in the bar know I slept with you last night. God only knows what they think of me.”
Nate frowned. It had been a joke. A tease. No way had he expected her to react so strongly. Then he thought about her modesty this morning and realized that perhaps he should have. Clearly, she was a woman who worried about things like appearances and reputation. He bet himself a thousand bucks that she’d messed up her sheets this morning so that the
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