Read Online Summer in Eclipse Bay by Jayne Ann Krentz - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jayne Ann Krentz
Tags: Love Stories; American, oregon, Conversion is important., convert, conversion, Suspense Fiction; American, Summer Resorts, Vendetta, Women Art Dealers
Ads: Link
possibilities.
"You planned to invite me back to your place?" he asked finally.
"To be honest, it struck me that it would be more comfortable to eat
there rather than in front of an audience composed of a lot of the good and
extremely curious people of Eclipse Bay."
He smiled slowly. "Fresh asparagus and salmon sound great."
The atmosphere was making him very uneasy, but for the life of him, he could
not figure out what was wrong. On the surface, everything was perfect.
Dinner had gone smoothly. He had taken charge of the salmon while Octavia
had dealt with the asparagus and sliced some crusty bread. They had sipped from
two glasses of chardonnay while they worked together in her snug, cozy kitchen.
They had talked easily, for all the world as comfortable as two people who had
prepared a meal together countless times.
It was almost as if they had already become lovers, he thought. A deep sense
of intimacy enveloped them and it was starting to worry him. This was a far
different sensation than he had known with other women in the past. It was not
the pleasant, superficial sexual awareness he had experienced on previous,
similar occasions. He did not understand the prowling tension that was starting
to leave claw marks on his insides.
Maybe this had not been one of his better ideas. Then again, looking back,
he was pretty sure he'd never had much choice. If you went hunting fairy
queens, you took a few risks.
He stood at the sink in her gleaming, white-tiled kitchen and washed the pan
that had been used to steam the asparagus. Nearby, Octavia, a striped towel
draped over her left shoulder, went up on her tiptoes to stack dishes in a
cupboard. When she raised her arms overhead, her breasts moved beneath the thin
fabric of her blouse.
Damn. He was staring. Annoyed, he concentrated on rinsing the pan.
She closed the cupboard door and reached for the coffeepot. "Black,
right? No cream or sugar?"
"Right."
She poured coffee into two cups and led the way into the living room. He
dried his hands, slung the damp towel over a rack, and followed her, unable to
take his eyes off the mesmerizing sway of her hips.
What the hell was wrong with this picture? he wondered. This was exactly how
it was supposed to look, precisely how he had hoped it would look at this
point.
She curled up in a corner of the sofa, one leg tucked under the curve of her
thigh, mug gracefully cupped in her hands. The fire he had built earlier
crackled on the hearth.
She smiled at him and he immediately felt every nerve and muscle in his body
shift from Yellow Alert status to Code Red. An almost irresistible urge swept
over him to pick her up off the sofa, carry her into the shadowy room at the
end of the hall, and put her down on a bed. He flexed one hand deliberately to
regain control.
It had been like this all evening, as though he were walking the edge of a
cliff in a violent storm. One false step and he would go over into very deep
water. It didn't help that outside the rain and the wind had struck land with a
vengeance some forty minutes ago.
He crossed the living room to the stone fireplace, picked up an iron poker,
and prodded the fire. The blaze didn't need prodding, but it gave him something
to do with his hands.
"I've enjoyed your books," she said. "I've got all four in
the series."
"I noticed." He put aside the poker, straightened, and glanced at
the bookshelf where his novels were arranged between two heavy green glass
bookends. "We authors tend to pick up on little details like that."
The bookends looked expensive, he thought. Dolphins playing in the surf.
One-of-a-kind pieces of art glass, not cheap, utilitarian bookends picked up at
a rummage sale.
There were other quietly expensive touches in the cottage. An exotically
patterned carpet done in shades of muted greens and gold covered most of the
hardwood floor in front of the dark-green sofa. The coffee table was a heavy
sheet of green glass that rippled and flowed like a wave of
"You planned to invite me back to your place?" he asked finally.
"To be honest, it struck me that it would be more comfortable to eat
there rather than in front of an audience composed of a lot of the good and
extremely curious people of Eclipse Bay."
He smiled slowly. "Fresh asparagus and salmon sound great."
The atmosphere was making him very uneasy, but for the life of him, he could
not figure out what was wrong. On the surface, everything was perfect.
Dinner had gone smoothly. He had taken charge of the salmon while Octavia
had dealt with the asparagus and sliced some crusty bread. They had sipped from
two glasses of chardonnay while they worked together in her snug, cozy kitchen.
They had talked easily, for all the world as comfortable as two people who had
prepared a meal together countless times.
It was almost as if they had already become lovers, he thought. A deep sense
of intimacy enveloped them and it was starting to worry him. This was a far
different sensation than he had known with other women in the past. It was not
the pleasant, superficial sexual awareness he had experienced on previous,
similar occasions. He did not understand the prowling tension that was starting
to leave claw marks on his insides.
Maybe this had not been one of his better ideas. Then again, looking back,
he was pretty sure he'd never had much choice. If you went hunting fairy
queens, you took a few risks.
He stood at the sink in her gleaming, white-tiled kitchen and washed the pan
that had been used to steam the asparagus. Nearby, Octavia, a striped towel
draped over her left shoulder, went up on her tiptoes to stack dishes in a
cupboard. When she raised her arms overhead, her breasts moved beneath the thin
fabric of her blouse.
Damn. He was staring. Annoyed, he concentrated on rinsing the pan.
She closed the cupboard door and reached for the coffeepot. "Black,
right? No cream or sugar?"
"Right."
She poured coffee into two cups and led the way into the living room. He
dried his hands, slung the damp towel over a rack, and followed her, unable to
take his eyes off the mesmerizing sway of her hips.
What the hell was wrong with this picture? he wondered. This was exactly how
it was supposed to look, precisely how he had hoped it would look at this
point.
She curled up in a corner of the sofa, one leg tucked under the curve of her
thigh, mug gracefully cupped in her hands. The fire he had built earlier
crackled on the hearth.
She smiled at him and he immediately felt every nerve and muscle in his body
shift from Yellow Alert status to Code Red. An almost irresistible urge swept
over him to pick her up off the sofa, carry her into the shadowy room at the
end of the hall, and put her down on a bed. He flexed one hand deliberately to
regain control.
It had been like this all evening, as though he were walking the edge of a
cliff in a violent storm. One false step and he would go over into very deep
water. It didn't help that outside the rain and the wind had struck land with a
vengeance some forty minutes ago.
He crossed the living room to the stone fireplace, picked up an iron poker,
and prodded the fire. The blaze didn't need prodding, but it gave him something
to do with his hands.
"I've enjoyed your books," she said. "I've got all four in
the series."
"I noticed." He put aside the poker, straightened, and glanced at
the bookshelf where his novels were arranged between two heavy green glass
bookends. "We authors tend to pick up on little details like that."
The bookends looked expensive, he thought. Dolphins playing in the surf.
One-of-a-kind pieces of art glass, not cheap, utilitarian bookends picked up at
a rummage sale.
There were other quietly expensive touches in the cottage. An exotically
patterned carpet done in shades of muted greens and gold covered most of the
hardwood floor in front of the dark-green sofa. The coffee table was a heavy
sheet of green glass that rippled and flowed like a wave of
Similar Books
