kept
one arm around her. The air between them was charged with leftover
sparks from their kiss. Fighting for control, Whitney nodded and
smiled, as Chris pointed out some tiny islands, naming them and
telling her about sunken hazards and tales of shipwrecks. The ride
back to St. Thomas made time a liar, going fast and slow all at
once.
When they pulled into the harbor in Charlotte
Amalie, Whitney jumped onto the dock and took the ropes Chris
handed her.
“Just loop it around that post,” he said. “I’ll tie
it up in a minute.”
Chris eased the boat into place like he’d done it a
thousand times and shut off the engine.
“Should we eat this pie now or find something a
little more substantial?” he asked.
She smiled. “Hungry?”
“You have no idea.”
“You’ll have to choose the place again. Aside from a
few visits with my friend Taylor in college, I’m pretty clueless
about where to go on this island.”
“Taylor?” Chris asked, a slight frown wrinkling his
face.
“Taylor East. The family owns a home here on the
island,” Whitney explained. A home that is a disaster, she
remembered with a twinge of guilt. A good friend would rush out to
East Pointe to check on the construction progress instead of
lingering for a sunset dinner downtown.
Chris finished tying the boat and straightened up.
He towered over her and the setting sun glowed from behind him.
“Dinner, right. I know about twelve places we could
walk to that will make your mouth water,” he said.
It already is, she thought.
Chapter Eight
They found a quiet place with a killer view. A short
walk from the tourist restaurants and shops, it overlooked the
harbor. Looking west across the harbor, Whitney settled back in her
chair. She wanted this night to go on and on. She had no one to
hurry home to, no work to do. There was nothing she could do about
the problem of the East Pointe Estate tonight. The only thing she
could do right now was relax and enjoy dinner. For a girl who
always did the sensible thing, it was the only sensible thing to
do.
They ordered drinks and an appetizer to share.
Neither placed a dinner order yet, but there was plenty of time.
Chris didn’t seem to be in a hurry any more than she was.
“So,” Whitney began, “I don’t really know much about
you. Except that you are a really good kisser.”
“That about sums it up,” Chris said as he leaned
back in his chair and put one hand on her bare thigh.
“I know you must live here on the island
somewhere.”
“I do. Small house that was rescued from the
wrecking ball when a new, uh, development was being put in a few
years back.”
“A rescued house?”
“More of a shack really. Good enough for a single
guy, not the kind of thing that’s ever going to make a magazine
spread.”
“It’s more than what I have,” Whitney said. “By the
time I get home, my lease will be up on my apartment. I can’t
decide whether to just renew it or look for something that suits me
a little better.”
Chris looked at her like there was something he
wanted to ask, but he didn’t say anything. Their waiter placed
drinks on cardboard circles on the glass-topped table. No
Virgin-esia tonight, Whitney was going a slightly safer drink
route.
She took a sip of her strawberry daiquiri and
grinned at him over the rim. “I never liked the place anyway,” she
explained.
“Too small?”
“Too ex-boyfriend. And the parking is a real pain,
even with my little hybrid.”
“I’ve heard that about Boston.”
“Ever been there?” she asked.
“Family vacation when I was about twelve. Freedom
trail, the Old North Church. Old Ironsides. All the standard
tourist stuff.”
“And was a boy of twelve fascinated by all
that?”
“Boy? I thought of myself as a man, of course, when
I was twelve,” Chris said, flashing the sexy smile that announced
he was definitely a full-grown man right now. “Family vacations
weren’t a whole lot of fun when I was a kid. My dad was
one arm around her. The air between them was charged with leftover
sparks from their kiss. Fighting for control, Whitney nodded and
smiled, as Chris pointed out some tiny islands, naming them and
telling her about sunken hazards and tales of shipwrecks. The ride
back to St. Thomas made time a liar, going fast and slow all at
once.
When they pulled into the harbor in Charlotte
Amalie, Whitney jumped onto the dock and took the ropes Chris
handed her.
“Just loop it around that post,” he said. “I’ll tie
it up in a minute.”
Chris eased the boat into place like he’d done it a
thousand times and shut off the engine.
“Should we eat this pie now or find something a
little more substantial?” he asked.
She smiled. “Hungry?”
“You have no idea.”
“You’ll have to choose the place again. Aside from a
few visits with my friend Taylor in college, I’m pretty clueless
about where to go on this island.”
“Taylor?” Chris asked, a slight frown wrinkling his
face.
“Taylor East. The family owns a home here on the
island,” Whitney explained. A home that is a disaster, she
remembered with a twinge of guilt. A good friend would rush out to
East Pointe to check on the construction progress instead of
lingering for a sunset dinner downtown.
Chris finished tying the boat and straightened up.
He towered over her and the setting sun glowed from behind him.
“Dinner, right. I know about twelve places we could
walk to that will make your mouth water,” he said.
It already is, she thought.
Chapter Eight
They found a quiet place with a killer view. A short
walk from the tourist restaurants and shops, it overlooked the
harbor. Looking west across the harbor, Whitney settled back in her
chair. She wanted this night to go on and on. She had no one to
hurry home to, no work to do. There was nothing she could do about
the problem of the East Pointe Estate tonight. The only thing she
could do right now was relax and enjoy dinner. For a girl who
always did the sensible thing, it was the only sensible thing to
do.
They ordered drinks and an appetizer to share.
Neither placed a dinner order yet, but there was plenty of time.
Chris didn’t seem to be in a hurry any more than she was.
“So,” Whitney began, “I don’t really know much about
you. Except that you are a really good kisser.”
“That about sums it up,” Chris said as he leaned
back in his chair and put one hand on her bare thigh.
“I know you must live here on the island
somewhere.”
“I do. Small house that was rescued from the
wrecking ball when a new, uh, development was being put in a few
years back.”
“A rescued house?”
“More of a shack really. Good enough for a single
guy, not the kind of thing that’s ever going to make a magazine
spread.”
“It’s more than what I have,” Whitney said. “By the
time I get home, my lease will be up on my apartment. I can’t
decide whether to just renew it or look for something that suits me
a little better.”
Chris looked at her like there was something he
wanted to ask, but he didn’t say anything. Their waiter placed
drinks on cardboard circles on the glass-topped table. No
Virgin-esia tonight, Whitney was going a slightly safer drink
route.
She took a sip of her strawberry daiquiri and
grinned at him over the rim. “I never liked the place anyway,” she
explained.
“Too small?”
“Too ex-boyfriend. And the parking is a real pain,
even with my little hybrid.”
“I’ve heard that about Boston.”
“Ever been there?” she asked.
“Family vacation when I was about twelve. Freedom
trail, the Old North Church. Old Ironsides. All the standard
tourist stuff.”
“And was a boy of twelve fascinated by all
that?”
“Boy? I thought of myself as a man, of course, when
I was twelve,” Chris said, flashing the sexy smile that announced
he was definitely a full-grown man right now. “Family vacations
weren’t a whole lot of fun when I was a kid. My dad was
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