Her absent Mr. Logan was painting the small structure; his lithe torso lengthening as he brought the paintbrush upward in a long, powerful sweep. A sharp little thrill rippled under her skin. Katy stopped, trying to decide whether to go on, or go back.
But, too late; he’d already seen her. “Hello, again,” she called, making her way along the stony path. Coming round the side of the gazebo, she gave a little gasp of pleasure.
“Nice view, huh?” he murmured.
“Nice,” Katy answered, thinking wryly that nice didn’t do it justice. Below her, spread out like dark green jewels on a velvet cloth of water, the San Juan Islands lay drowsing in the sunlight. The Washington coast was a dark blur in the distance, and clouds drifted down the highest hills to become tangled in the tops of soaring firs. Her camera was in her room, worse luck. But there would be plenty of time to take pictures.
She looked up and found his gaze on her face. “It’s s lovely,” she said.
“Yeah, lovely.” Putting down his brush, he walked over to stand beside her. “I love it. Always have.”
“Always? You’ve lived here all your life, then?”
“No, this was my grandparents’ home. I grew up in Baltimore, but I loved to spend the summers here when was a boy.”
She had turned her attention back to the view. While he spoke, Thomas let his gaze play over her again. Honey-toned skin everywhere he looked, face, arms, long shapely legs. Masses of honey-colored hair blowing in the wind.
“I guess you think Tumbling Brook’s a pretty fancy name for this place,” he said idly.
“I did wonder, yes.” She swept out her small hands in a movement that reminded him of butterflies. “It doesn’t suit you,” she said simply.
“It doesn’t, huh?” He chuckled. “Actually, Grandmother named it, and since Grandfather thought she hung the moon, Tumbling Brook it was.”
Katy smiled at the colloquial expression. Obviously, his grandfather had adored his grandmother. It must be nice to be adored, she thought with disarming wistfulness.
“Well, the brook does tumble,” she said, and they both laughed. “Do you grow the roses? They’re lovely.”
“Yes, the roses, the flowers, a few choice vegetables. I supply the local merchants with fresh produce.” He grinned. “A hobby more than a money-making endeavor.”
He was so easy to be with, she reflected. Some small part of her insisted she knew him, from some other time, some other place. A little shaken, Katy reminded herself that he was also a stranger. “Mr. Logan, I need to make a telephone call. Long distance, but I have a calling card. I need to check in with my... family.”
“Of course,” Thomas said. “Telephone’s in the kitchen.”
“Thank you.” Excusing herself, Katy turned back and followed the left fork for a while. At length, she retraced her steps to the house and called Nell for a brief, reassuring chat.
Hanging up, Katy yawned with catlike languor. Perhaps she’d have that nap, after all.
Katy woke disoriented. Blearily, she noticed the sunset and wondered why Nell had let her sleep through dinner when she was so hungry. Then awareness returned fully and she sat up. This wasn’t home and that wasn’t her beloved nanny-turned-housekeeper she heard stirring downstairs. She sighed. Where was she going to eat tonight? She hated the thought of getting dressed and going out.
She lay there for a few more minutes, luxuriating in the perfect warmth of the goose-down comforter. She was still tired, still drowsy. But if she didn’t get up now, she wouldn’t sleep tonight. Well, this was the purpose of her trip, to rest, relax, unwind. Get away from it all, she reflected, without permitting her mind to explore the all.
Her gaze fell upon her camera and the rolls of film she’d stacked beside it. A freelance writer and photographer, she had combined her vacation with an assignment from a travel magazine she had worked with before Karin’s death. At the time Katy had felt ambivalent about accepting it. Although she had always loved her work, right now it seemed more of a burden than a pleasure. But both her therapist and her editor thought it would be good for her.
Well, maybe they were right, she reflected. Maybe working in this lovely place would revive her zest for life.
Her mind abruptly shifted to the hunger pangs knotting her stomach. They surprised her, for she hadn’t really been hungry for so long she’d almost forgotten how it felt. It felt pretty good, Katy decided.
Clad only in a tiny gold ankle bracelet, she padded to the closet in search of a robe. She needed a shower and the bathroom was down the hall. An inconvenience, but one often encountered at such establishments.
Catching sight of herself in the full-length mirror on the closet door, she made a face. Napping had removed some of her makeup, and mascara darkened the shadows under her eyes. She wondered what the charming Mr. Logan would think of her were he to see her right now. Grimacing, she pulled on her robe, opened the bedroom door and nearly bumped into him.
“Oops! Sorry!” he exclaimed, dropping the towels he’d been holding and catching her arms just below the short, fluttery sleeves of her robe.
His touch on her flesh was electric. Katy jumped from both the unexpected encounter and the lovely sensations racing down her arms. God, it’s been so long since I’ve had these feelings, she thought, thoroughly surprised. When she moved, the tips of her breasts touched the hard male chest covered only in a thin T-shirt. She could feel his body heat. And her own.
His quick, indrawn breath gifted her with another shivery thrill.
“Are you okay?” he asked huskily. “I didn’t mean to bowl you over.”
Strangely reluctant to look at him, she understood why when their eyes met. Something disturbingly strong and splendid flowed between them, something not entirely physical.
“I’m fine, really.” Shaken, she pulled away and smoothed her tumbled hair. He knelt to pick up the towels he’d been carrying.
“Oh, I’m glad you have those—I forgot mine,” Katy said, somewhat breathlessly.
“I was just bringing these to you. I wasn’t sure you had enough. It’s been my experience that women require a lot of towels,” he drawled.
Experience in what capacity? Holding her tongue, Katy accepted the linens he handed up to her and thanked him.
“You’re welcome.” As his gaze swept upward, Thomas felt a vital quickening. From his kneeling position he had a fine view of sleek, satin-covered thighs and the sweet flare of her hips. Seen from below, her breasts were high and pointed. Proud breasts, he thought, small, but rich enough to satisfy the sudden itch in his hands.
He stood up and smiled at her. Her lips parted and he watched them curve up at the corners in a little answering smile that was at once seductive and innocent of seduction. How would her mouth taste? he wondered. And how long had it been since he had been so acutely aware of a woman?
She stepped around him, the shimmery robe clinging to her enticing form. She smelled delicious, he thought distractedly. Why did she want to shower?
As she walked from him, desire coiled low in his stomach, a deluge of yearning that stunned him a tittle, for it was mixed with other things. Nameless things, but very much there.
When she glanced over her shoulder, his tight mouth softened. Her face had the fresh, fragile beauty of a wildflower.
“Just a minute, Katy,” he said abruptly. “There are a few other things I want to tell you. One is that the living room is for your pleasure, also the kitchen should you want to prepare tea or coffee. There’s television downstairs... Let’s see, what else? The front