She turned to scoop her T-shirt up off the sand. “A friend wanted me to go barhopping, but I turned her down. That’s not exactly my idea of fun. Besides, I’m beat. I’m going to have a shower, a quick dinner, and then sit down with a good book with my feet up.”
“I should go,” Miller murmured. He definitely had to go. Serena Westford was probably that friend, and if she was out, she probably wasn’t going to be dropping by tonight. He’d come back in the morning when the sun was up, when the soft dusk of early evening wasn’t throwing seductive shadows across everything.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Mariah said. “I picked something up for you on the mainland this morning.”
She hurried back up the beach toward the backpack she’d left at the bottom of the stairs. Miller followed more slowly. She’d picked something up for him?
“Wait a sec,” she said, bounding up the stairs, carrying the heavy-looking backpack effortlessly. “I want to turn on the deck light.”
Princess followed her up the stairs.
“Hey, what are you doing?” he heard Mariah say to Princess. “You can’t go in there. My rental agreement distinctly says no dogs or cats. And I hate to break it to you, babe, but you’re definitely a dog. I know you don’t believe me....”
The light came on as Miller started up the stairs. It was one of those yellow bug lights, easy on the eyes. It cast a golden, almost fairy-tale-like glow on the deck.
Mariah had her backpack on the table as she unzipped one of the compartments. He stopped halfway up the stairs, afraid to get too close, fighting the pull that drew him toward her. Means to an end, he reminded himself.
“There’s a Native American craft shop on the mainland,” she told him as she drew a heavy tool belt out and set it on the table. “I love going in there—they’ve got some really beautiful jewelry and some fabulous artwork. But when I went past this morning, I was thinking about you and I went in and bought you this.” She pulled a bag out of her pack and something out of that bag.
It was round and crisscrossed with a delicate string of some kind, intricately woven as if it were a web. A feather was in the center, held in place by the string, and several other longer feathers hung down from the bottom of the circle.
Miller didn’t know what the hell it was, but whatever it was, Mariah had bought it for him. She’d actually bought him a gift.
“Wow,” he said. “Thanks.”
She grinned at him. “You don’t have a clue what this is, do you?”
“It’s, um, something to hang on the wall?”
“It’s something to hang on the wall by your bed,” she told him. “It’s a dream catcher. Certain Southwestern Native American tribes believed having one near while you slept would keep you from having nightmares.” She held it out to him. “Who knows? Maybe they’re right. Maybe if you hang it up, you’ll be able to sleep.”
Miller had to climb the last few steps to take the dream catcher from her hands. He wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had bought him anything. “Thank you,” he managed. She had been thinking about him today. They’d only met twice, and she had been thinking about him....
That was good for the case, he tried to tell himself, but he knew the real truth. It had nothing to do with Serena Westford and everything to do with this sudden ache of desire he couldn’t seem to ignore.
For the briefest, wildest moment, he actually considered following through on his urges to make his relationship with Mariah a sexual one. But even he couldn’t do that. Even he wasn’t enough of a son of a bitch to use her that way.
Still, when Miller opened his mouth to take his leave, he found himself saying something else entirely. “I haven’t had dinner yet. Can I talk you into joining me? There’s a fish place right down the road…?”
“I’m really not up to going out,” Mariah told him. “But I’ve got a swordfish steak in the fridge that I was going to throw on the grill. I’d love it if you’d join me.” She didn’t give him time to respond. “I’ve got to take a shower,” she said, pushing open the sliding door that led from the deck into the house. “I’ll be quick—help yourself to a beer or a soda from the kitchen.”
She was inside the house before he could come up with a good reason why he shouldn’t stay for dinner. But there were plenty of reasons. Because eating here, in the seclusion of her cottage, was too intimate. Because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to maintain this pretense of wanting to be only friends. Because the thought of her in the shower while he was out here waiting was far too provocative. Because he didn’t trust himself to keep his distance.
But Miller didn’t say anything.
Because, despite the fact he knew he was playing with fire, he wanted to stay here with Mariah Robinson more than he’d wanted anything in years.
“CAR ALARMS,” JOHN SAID as he helped Mariah carry the last of the dishes back into the kitchen. “The company makes car alarms, and in the late eighties the business boomed. I took over as CEO when my father retired. I’ve been gone too long—I need to get back to work in a month or two.”
Mariah leaned back against the sink. “How have the sales figures been since you’ve left?”
He shrugged. “Holding steady.”
“Then you don’t need to do anything,” she told him. “Particularly not throw yourself back into the rat race before you’re physically ready. Give yourself a break.”
He smiled very slightly. “I still look pretty awful, huh?”
“Actually, you look much better.” Over the past few days, his hair had grown in quite a bit more. Mariah figured he must be one of those men who needed a cut every two weeks or so because his hair grew so quickly. It was dark and thick and he now looked as if he’d intentionally gotten a crew cut rather than as if he’d been attacked by a mad barber with an electric razor.
His skin looked a whole lot less gray, too. He actually had some color, as if he’d been out in the sun for part of the day.
His eyes were a different story. Slightly bloodshot and bleary, he still looked as if he hadn’t slept in weeks.
“Did you get a chance to look at that book I gave you?” she added.
“Yeah.” He couldn’t hide his smile. “It was…educational. Particularly the chapter about stress reduction through sex.”
Mariah felt her cheeks heat with a blush. “Oh, God,” she said. “I forgot all about that chapter. He does go into some detail, doesn’t he? I hope you didn’t think I was—”
“I didn’t think anything,” he interrupted her. “It’s all right. I was just teasing.”
She laughed giddily. “And I was just going to ask you into the living room to try out one of my favorite stress-relieving exercises, but now I’m not sure how you’ll take that invitation.”
“It wouldn’t happen to be the exercise called “Pressure Cooker Release,” by any chance?” he asked.
She knew exactly which one he was talking about, and she snorted, feeling her face turn an even brighter shade of red. “Not a chance.” But maybe after she got to know him quite a bit better…
He smiled as if he was following the direction of her thoughts. Jonathan Mills had the nicest smile. He didn’t use it very often, but when he did, it softened the harsh lines of his face and warmed the electric blue of his eyes.
She found herself smiling back at him almost foolishly.
He broke their gaze, glancing away from her as if he were afraid the heat that was building in both of their eyes had the potential to burn the house down.