Just friends. Neighbors. Yet the romantic ambiance told her otherwise. As did the light, musky scent of aftershave. Her heart fluttered to a zip-a-dee-do-dah beat.
“Can I pour you a glass of wine?”
Wine? For a moment, Kara wondered if Michael’s expectations for the dinner were different than hers. She certainly hadn’t planned on a romantic encounter, and she quickly sought his eyes, hoping to see he hadn’t, either.
He flashed her a warm, friendly smile, and she wondered if she’d made more out of the offer than he’d intended.
She slowly ran her hands down the sides of her long, loose-fitting cotton skirt. We’re just newfound friends having dinner. And maybe a few laughs. What harm can there be in that?
“Sure,” she said. “Wine sounds great.”
Chapter Three
Michael stood like a starstruck teen as Kara entered his temporary home. Her simple cotton dress fit like a curtain flowing in the breeze. The soft peach fabric lay against ivory-colored skin blessed with a faint scatter of freckles, setting off that fiery shade of hair. When had plain cotton stood out as lovely, breathtaking?
Denise, his dark-haired, provocative ex-wife, had worn a lot of red and black, Lycra and silk. She’d chosen colors and tight-fitting material to make her stand out in a crowd. But had Michael been mingling in a banquet hall with elegant and notable guests, he wouldn’t have been able to keep his eyes from the petite redhead who smelled of peach blossoms and taunted his senses with a plain, wholesome appeal. Had she chosen a dress to match her scent in an attempt to tantalize him?
She cocked her head and looked at him in a strange and fidgety way. Had he made her nervous? He hadn’t meant to.
Wine. He’d asked her if she wanted some, and she’d said yes. “Why don’t you take a seat on the sofa? I’ll bring you a glass. Is chardonnay all right?”
“Sure.” She swept into the living room, the gentle sway of her hem brushing small but shapely calves, and took a seat.
Michael placed the magazine on the counter and tossed the empty can into the trash. He withdrew a bottle of chilled wine from the refrigerator, pulled the cork and poured two glasses. As he handed one to Kara, he noticed how close she sat to the armrest of the sofa.
He’d meant to wine and dine her, to provide a sensual evening. To suggest they see how far this attraction went. But he’d never intended anything that wasn’t completely mutual. That had never been his style, not even when he was an intern and a few of the other young doctors were intent upon hitting on every good-looking nurse—whether she was willing or not.
His studies and his job had been too important for him to take lightly. Not that he’d remained celibate. He hadn’t.
While he tried to conjure up a way to ease the awkward moment, she nodded toward the Formica countertop where he’d placed the magazine. “Are you interested in airplanes?”
Did he dare tell her he had thought about selling his Citation, maybe making another purchase? No need to prompt any personal questions. Yet the way she lifted an auburn brow, cocked her head to the side and flashed him an interested smile caused him to digress in a way he hadn’t intended. “Planes have always interested me, ever since I was a kid, but I never took the time to pursue any training.”
“I’ll bet it’s fun, seeing the world from high above the ground.” She sighed, then gave a wistful shrug. “I’ve never flown before, but I’ve always wanted to. I used to hang out in the library when I was a kid. I’d read travel magazines and imagine myself taking exotic trips. Reading has to be the most exciting thing in the world.”
More than actually experiencing the world? Kara seemed to enjoy life in a way most people never did. Playing soccer with a kid, finding a shell in the sand, throwing a forgotten Frisbee through the ocean air. If anyone deserved an exotic trip, it was the effervescent young woman sitting on his sofa. “Do you still read?”
“Every chance I get.” Imagination lit up her face and seemed to dispel her nervousness. “I’ve been to the far ends of the earth, by dogsled, biplane, clipper ship. You name it.”
He felt a compulsion to take her someplace she’d only read about but reeled in the urge. Her enthusiastic, playful nature was having an unusual effect on him. And God knew he was clinical, rational, certainly not a fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants type. “I’ve got the grill on the back patio. Do you want to sit outside while I prepare the fish?”
“Sure.” She flashed him a dimpled smile, then stood. “Can I help?”
“You can keep me company.”
On the back patio, a harvest moon rose high in the evening sky, watching them with mystical intent. Ocean air, crisp and fragrant, mingled with the smell of grilled swordfish and charcoal. Michael stood over the barbecue, watching the fillets sizzle over the hot coals, yet he couldn’t keep his eyes from casually glancing at the woman who watched him work.
Kara sat in a plastic patio chair, her feet barely resting on the deck. He found it nearly impossible to keep his attention focused on the task at hand, which didn’t seem at all natural. Kara wasn’t his type, wasn’t of his world, yet it didn’t seem to matter tonight. She intrigued him. “Have you always lived in Harbor Haven?”
“No. I’ve lived here for nearly a year and a half. That’s about the longest I’ve been in any town, but I’m not a wanderer by nature. It’s just the way things worked out.”
“So why here? At Campbell’s Seaside Cottages?”
“One day, while having lunch at the Pacifica, Lizzie offered to rent me a cottage at a reduced rate if I would help her out with some of the more physically demanding chores. I’ve always been on a limited budget, so I jumped at the chance to save some money.” She smiled and shrugged. “But Lizzie became more of a friend than a landlord and, when the kids moved in, we became a family. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”
He watched her, the way she tilted her head, the way the patio light sparkled like glitter on the auburn strands. “You don’t seem like a homebody to me,” he said, even though she didn’t seem to be an adventure-driven nomad, either. “You have a playful spirit.”
“I’ve never really had a home, not one in the classic sense of the word, but I do now. I’ve taken great pains to make it warm and cozy. I’ve refinished a maple dining room set someone placed on the side of the road with a Free sign taped to it. Mr. Radcliff, the old man who lives between us, let me use his sander. I did a fairly decent job of refurbishing it, if I do say so myself.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, appearing to grow more comfortable, and flashed a teasing wink. “And you ought to see the tree house Eric and I are working on.”
“A tree house?” Michael laughed. “I’d like to see it sometime.”
She cocked her head to the side, sending him another dimpled grin. “Of course, you have to ring the bell to be allowed admittance.”
“Of course,” he said, falling prey to the playful notion.
Kara took a sip of wine. “How about you? Where are you from?”
“Originally, Boston.” He didn’t want to lie but wasn’t about to divulge any more information than necessary. As far as he knew, Kara hadn’t realized his identity. Not that he’d really kept it secret, but he’d come to Harbor Haven to escape, not attract more attention to himself. Landing in the public spotlight was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.
She drew up a knee, placing a small foot on the rim of her seat and tenting the long sundress she wore, then rested her hands on her knee. Nothing showed, not a peek of skin, yet he found the move so revealing, so utterly sexy, he stood beside the barbecue like a befuddled teen. He snatched his wineglass from the patio table and took another taste—a