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Authors: Linda Francis Lee
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sign.”
His features hardened before suddenly he shook his head and the side of his mouth quirked up. “You’re impossible.” He reached for her again. “Come on, let’s get you out of this.”
“I can do it.”
He stepped back and raised a brow.
She struggled with the rubber before he pushed her hands aside, gently this time. She looked at him for a second, the air around them charged; then she gave in. As he started tugging the suit away, his gaze held hers, until finally he focused. In seconds he had sprung her free.
Thankfully, she was wearing some of Evie’s old leggings. She wilted back against the counter, his eyes traveling down her body and then back up to her face.
“You need water,” he said finally.
“I’m fine.”
He went to the cabinet anyway, found a glass, and filled it from the tap. “Drink.”
She felt too exhausted to do anything. “I’m fine, really.”
“Portia.” Just that, his tone warning.
She didn’t know if it was the way he said her name or the way his voice settled deep in his chest, but suddenly she felt emotional. Suddenly everything was too much. She took the water and sipped.
“All of it,” he stated, but softly.
The words ran along her senses, and he didn’t take his eyes off her until she did as she was told. As soon as she was done, he took the glass from her hands, his fingers brushing against hers, and put it on the counter. Then he looked at her as if searching for something, just as he had that first day she saw him when she was sitting on the front steps. After a second, not seeming to find the answer, or maybe just not liking the one he found, he reached out and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “You should eat something, then take a cool shower.”
He stood close, and with her back against the counter, there was nowhere for her to go. She realized she wanted to sink into this man, and probably would have. There were moments in life, she had heard about, when a person finds where they are meant to be. She had thought that was the case with the knowing. Then again with Robert. And both times the feeling had been proven wrong. But there was something about this man, in this place, that made her feel like a parched traveler stumbling out of the desert and finding a cool sea.
“Who are you really?” she asked without thinking.
But just then his cell phone buzzed and he glanced at the screen.
“I’ve got to take this.” He ran his gaze over her, yet again assessing. “Then we need to talk.”
He retucked that same errant curl behind her ear that had sprung free again, and smiled, seeming amused, then headed for the door.
“You with the talking,” she managed, a bit of her old self returning. “Next you’ll be asking to do facials and braid my hair.”
He gave a surprised laugh before he shook his head and kept going.
“Just so you know, there’s nothing to talk about!” she called after him. “Especially not the apartment. The only thing I’m prepared to sell is this burger suit, but it’s seen better days.”
His rumbling laughter was shut off by the closing door.
Seven
A RIEL’S SOCIAL STUDIES teacher droned on.
Mr. Wickman was old—ancient, really. Probably forty. He was tall, thin as a rail, and had one eye that drooped. The kids called him Wink. Ariel hated that, hated how mean the kids could be. But she hated Mr. Wickman’s assignment even more.
A report on ancestry.
Ariel got it. No sense belaboring a topic that had been massively boring the first time around. The last thing she wanted to do, on top of writing in a journal, was poke around in her family history. Yeah, right, she could see that.
Hey, Dad, tell me about Mom and her family.
When pigs flew, maybe.
A better topic was Portia downstairs. Ariel still laughed every time she thought of her barreling into the building dressed as a hamburger and practically squeezing the life out of them. Even more amazing, it was the first time Ariel had
His features hardened before suddenly he shook his head and the side of his mouth quirked up. “You’re impossible.” He reached for her again. “Come on, let’s get you out of this.”
“I can do it.”
He stepped back and raised a brow.
She struggled with the rubber before he pushed her hands aside, gently this time. She looked at him for a second, the air around them charged; then she gave in. As he started tugging the suit away, his gaze held hers, until finally he focused. In seconds he had sprung her free.
Thankfully, she was wearing some of Evie’s old leggings. She wilted back against the counter, his eyes traveling down her body and then back up to her face.
“You need water,” he said finally.
“I’m fine.”
He went to the cabinet anyway, found a glass, and filled it from the tap. “Drink.”
She felt too exhausted to do anything. “I’m fine, really.”
“Portia.” Just that, his tone warning.
She didn’t know if it was the way he said her name or the way his voice settled deep in his chest, but suddenly she felt emotional. Suddenly everything was too much. She took the water and sipped.
“All of it,” he stated, but softly.
The words ran along her senses, and he didn’t take his eyes off her until she did as she was told. As soon as she was done, he took the glass from her hands, his fingers brushing against hers, and put it on the counter. Then he looked at her as if searching for something, just as he had that first day she saw him when she was sitting on the front steps. After a second, not seeming to find the answer, or maybe just not liking the one he found, he reached out and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “You should eat something, then take a cool shower.”
He stood close, and with her back against the counter, there was nowhere for her to go. She realized she wanted to sink into this man, and probably would have. There were moments in life, she had heard about, when a person finds where they are meant to be. She had thought that was the case with the knowing. Then again with Robert. And both times the feeling had been proven wrong. But there was something about this man, in this place, that made her feel like a parched traveler stumbling out of the desert and finding a cool sea.
“Who are you really?” she asked without thinking.
But just then his cell phone buzzed and he glanced at the screen.
“I’ve got to take this.” He ran his gaze over her, yet again assessing. “Then we need to talk.”
He retucked that same errant curl behind her ear that had sprung free again, and smiled, seeming amused, then headed for the door.
“You with the talking,” she managed, a bit of her old self returning. “Next you’ll be asking to do facials and braid my hair.”
He gave a surprised laugh before he shook his head and kept going.
“Just so you know, there’s nothing to talk about!” she called after him. “Especially not the apartment. The only thing I’m prepared to sell is this burger suit, but it’s seen better days.”
His rumbling laughter was shut off by the closing door.
Seven
A RIEL’S SOCIAL STUDIES teacher droned on.
Mr. Wickman was old—ancient, really. Probably forty. He was tall, thin as a rail, and had one eye that drooped. The kids called him Wink. Ariel hated that, hated how mean the kids could be. But she hated Mr. Wickman’s assignment even more.
A report on ancestry.
Ariel got it. No sense belaboring a topic that had been massively boring the first time around. The last thing she wanted to do, on top of writing in a journal, was poke around in her family history. Yeah, right, she could see that.
Hey, Dad, tell me about Mom and her family.
When pigs flew, maybe.
A better topic was Portia downstairs. Ariel still laughed every time she thought of her barreling into the building dressed as a hamburger and practically squeezing the life out of them. Even more amazing, it was the first time Ariel had
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