‘‘I won’t turn around until you say so,’’ she called out.
‘‘Okay.’’ He moved fast as the cold night air hit his testicles. Soon he was draped in the blanket. All he wore besides that were his glasses, still attached to their trusty leash.
In theory this concept had sounded sexy—both of them naked and loosely wrapped in soft blankets. That was before he’d decided to give her the blue one, leaving him looking like Chief Pretty-in-Pink.
But at least he was warmer, and maybe, once they were settled beside the fire and his privates had returned to their normal size, he wouldn’t feel so ridiculous. ‘‘Ready,’’ he said, and turned around.
She stood on the opposite side of the fire, her bare feet scrunched into the sand and the rest of her covered from neck to ankles in the blue blanket he used on his bed all winter. Her hair looked as if she’d been in swimming and hadn’t bothered to comb it out. Seeing her like this, mussed and naked except for the blanket,
his
blanket, was more arousing than he ever could have imagined.
She was a present ready to be unwrapped, and he was more than ready to do that. He couldn’t assume that she had similar thoughts, but she had come up with the clothesline idea, so they might be on the same page.
No question the plan was logical and practical. But there was serious subtext. He wondered if she realized that or if she thought they would simply dry their clothes by the fire and put them back on with no hanky-panky in between.
She leaned down to pick up two bits of fabric and almost lost her grip on the blanket. ‘‘Whoops. You’d better turn around again until I get my clothes draped over the clothesline.’’
‘‘Sure.’’ He turned, and imagined he looked even sillier from the back. A blanket-wrapped woman was one thing. You pictured her throwing it off with a seductive smile. A blanket-wrapped man . . . not so much.
‘‘There,’’ she said. ‘‘Now I’ll turn around while you hang up your clothes. I tried to leave you plenty of room.’’
Picking up the wet, sandy clothes he’d left in a heap, he faced the fire and her makeshift clothesline. Sure enough, her bra and panties were black and lacy. She’d put them very close to the flames.
‘‘I hope your underwear doesn’t catch fire.’’
She laughed. ‘‘That would take some explaining back at the Winston house. But it would be a great story for my grandchildren, wouldn’t it?’’
It would, which generated thoughts he had no business having. Until now, he’d been living for the moment, hoping he could fulfill his fantasy, if only for one night. But Annie was more than a one-night stand to him.
And that was his deep, dark secret—he wanted her on a forever basis. He wanted to be the father of her children, the grandfather of her grandchildren, the great-grandfather of her great-grandchildren, and so on through the ages. Wasn’t ever gonna happen, but he wanted it, anyway.
‘‘Jeremy? Are you finished hanging your clothes? I’m ready to cozy up to that fire.’’
‘‘Yeah, right. Almost done.’’ He started flinging his clothes over the stick and managed to knock it, along with her underwear, into the sand.
That meant picking up everything, including the delicate bits of black lace that had touched the areas he most wanted to touch, too. The cold air no longer had an effect on the family jewels. As he brushed the sand off her bra and panties, his penis rose to the occasion. Maybe he should just hang his briefs on that and be done with it.
Eventually he managed to balance his clothes and hers across the stick without knocking everything over. Then he stood and wrapped himself in the pink blanket. Because one part kept protruding, he decided to sit down and hide that bad boy under the folds of the blanket.
‘‘All set.’’ The wine and plastic bags filled with food and utensils were within reach, so he pulled them over and located the wine opener. Then, in an act of brilliance, he took off his glasses and tucked them in one of the plastic bags.
If he and Annie got cozy, he didn’t want to have to deal with taking off the glasses. Yesterday he wouldn’t have been thinking that far ahead. Tucking a couple of condoms in the bottom of the open package of napkins wouldn’t have occurred to him, either. Today it had.
She settled down beside him, her left knee close to his right, but not quite touching. She brought the scent of the lake and a faint floral fragrance with her. ‘‘Now, let’s see who gets voted off the island.’’
Her nearness and her nakedness under the blanket worked on his imagination, but he was determined to play it cool. ‘‘I promise you, my kayaking trips are never this scary.’’
‘‘Then it must be my fault.’’
‘‘No way.’’ He used the weight of the wine bottle to hold the blanket in place as he worked the cork loose. The naked-in-a-blanket routine was more awkward than he’d anticipated.
‘‘Maybe somebody still holds a grudge about the Miss Dairy Queen contest.’’
‘‘After ten years? Nah. More likely it’s the Click-or -Treat crowd trying to wreck my evening for the hell of it.’’ The cork came out with a loud pop.
‘‘I just can’t believe someone could arrange all that on such short notice. It would take days, if not weeks, to build that head and neck. Then there was the thing that flew overhead.’’
‘‘What thing?’’ He set a plastic goblet in the sand and managed to pour wine into it without knocking it over or flashing Annie. ‘‘You didn’t say anything about a flyover.’’
‘‘We were kinda busy. And I was afraid you’d think I was crazy. At first I thought it was an owl, but it was too big for that. And it hovered.’’
‘‘I’d say it was probably a kite.’’ He handed her the wine.
‘‘Thanks.’’ She held her blanket closed with one hand and took the goblet with her other. ‘‘No, it wasn’t a kite. I thought of that. No wind.’’
‘‘Then a radio-controlled plane of some sort.’’ He poured himself some wine and placed it carefully beside him. This blanket was a pain.
‘‘I suppose it could have been remote controlled. Again, I don’t see how the whole deal was arranged so quickly. We didn’t plan our trip until this morning.’’
‘‘So maybe it wasn’t aimed at us.’’ Wedging the cork back in, he rotated the bottle, screwing it into the sand so it wouldn’t tip over. ‘‘Maybe some kids dreamed up the prank weeks ago and were waiting for their first victims to come along.’’
‘‘That’s possible.’’ She glanced at him. ‘‘I want to get to the bottom of this. If it’s a trick, then I can write a story about small-town teenagers finding unusual ways to get their kicks. If it’s not a trick . . .’’
‘‘Don’t worry. It’s a trick. But at least it didn’t completely ruin the evening.’’
‘‘No, it didn’t.’’ She smiled. ‘‘I’m having a great time, Jeremy, in spite of everything. Maybe even because of everything. It’s not every day a girl gets rescued from sudden death.’’
He knew she was joking, but the comment made his stomach clench. ‘‘I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you. And for the record, I always believed you saw something. I’m just not into the monster theory.’’
She glanced at him. ‘‘I wish you’d seen it. That might have changed that logical mind of yours.’’
‘‘I wish I had, too.’’ If only she knew what was going on in his mind right now. It wasn’t logical at all. All he could think about was kissing her.
They were tantalizingly close. He could lean over right now and make contact, but that would be a predictable move. The new Jeremy didn’t make predictable moves.
Still, here they were, sitting together in the sand in front of a cozy fire. They were drinking wine and had nothing more than blankets covering them. The time was right for him to do
something
.
Ambrose had promised he could pluck coins from behind people’s ears, even if he had no coin on him, just as he’d been able to manufacture a rose from thin air. These things made no sense, yet when Jeremy contemplated doing a magic trick, he had the strangest feeling that he had special powers.
As a kid he’d believed in superheroes, and maybe a part of him still did. What if Ambrose and Dorcas were not what they seemed? What if they were
space aliens
?
Whoa. If he was willing to believe that, he should have no trouble believing in a lake monster. And he did
not
buy that. Still, the magic tricks were very cool, however he was able to do them.
He set down his wine. ‘‘Hold still a minute.’’ Brushing back her damp hair, he reached behind her ear. ‘‘Abracadabra.’’ Sure enough, a quarter slipped into his fingers. It was warm, as if someone had been holding it.
‘‘Found something,’’ he murmured, and held up the shiny coin.
Her eyes widened. ‘‘You’re
amazing
.’’
‘‘So are you.’’ This time he did kiss her, just touching her lips in tribute. Her mouth felt as he’d always imagined it would—like warm velvet. If Ambrose’s magic tricks had given Jeremy the chance to kiss Annie for the first time, then Ambrose could be from Krypton for all he cared.
Her lips moved in response, settling more securely against his. And she sighed, her soft breath tickling his mouth. That sigh alone was enough to kick his libido into overdrive. He imagined holding the back of her head and thrusting home with his tongue. God, he wanted to do that.
But instead he controlled the impulse. This was a first kiss, not an all-out assault. His fevered brain had trouble remembering that, but he held on to his sanity with steady determination. He wouldn’t overstay his welcome. Better to quit while he was ahead. Gradually he backed away from a mouth so plump and inviting, it could star in every lipstick commercial ever made.
Her eyes fluttered open and her gaze was dreamy. ‘‘You’re one of the nice guys, Jeremy.’’
‘‘You know what they say about nice guys.’’
Her answering smile turned slightly wicked. ‘‘I can think of one case in which finishing last would be a bonus.’’
Okay, now things were getting intense. He was having a tougher time staying James Bond suave. ‘‘Interesting thought.’’
‘‘Interesting activity.’’ Still smiling, she ducked her head and took a drink of her wine.
If she was trying to rattle him, she was succeeding. He fought the urge to throw her down on the sand— not classy. Instead he picked up his wineglass without fumbling. He’d never been that smooth. ‘‘I propose a toast.’’
She glanced up, her blue eyes warm. ‘‘Great idea.’’
‘‘To Melody and Bruce.’’
She looked surprised, but she touched her goblet to his. ‘‘Practicing for the rehearsal dinner?’’
‘‘Nope. Thanking them for getting married and bringing you back to town.’’
‘‘That’s a lovely thing to say.’’ Her voice was low and sweet. ‘‘Now I’m glad I did, but I was dreading it.’’
He hadn’t expected her to say that. He hadn’t meant to change the mood, either, but he just had. ‘‘Dreading it? Really?’’
‘‘Silly, huh?’’ She took another swallow of her wine. ‘‘This is great wine. Did you get it here?’’
She obviously wanted to change the subject, so he went along with her. ‘‘In a way. Dorcas and Ambrose gave it to me out of their private stash.’’
Now that she’d admitted not wanting to come back, he thought about how she’d acted since she’d arrived. Although he’d been dazzled by her, maybe she hadn’t been sparkling with the same bright confidence as before, and he’d been too smitten to notice.
If she was less sure of herself these days, he wanted to know who or what had taken the starch out of her. And then he wanted to fix the situation. He had a pretty good idea how to do it, too.
Chapter 8
Whoops. Annie hadn’t intended to be so honest. She’d meant to flirt with Jeremy and tease him with possibilities. He looked cute and amazingly sexy wrapped in that blanket, despite the pink flowers. She had arousing visions of what was under that blanket, and she bet he had similar thoughts about her.
Telling him she’d dreaded coming home hadn’t been part of her plan. Talk about a buzz kill. Whew.
She’d just have to keep the conversation light from here on. Wine was a neutral subject, so she’d go with that. ‘‘What’s the wine label say?’’ she asked.
Setting his goblet in the sand, he turned the bottle so she could see the label. ‘‘Mystic Hills Winery. It’s bottled in Sedona, which is where they used to live. It’s even possible they owned the winery.’’
‘‘I definitely need to interview them before I leave. There are more stories here than I thought. I suppose you know about Abe Danbury and his petition to ban canned laughter from all sitcoms.’’ Good. She’d made it back to safe territory.
Jeremy seemed willing to follow her lead. ‘‘Everybody in town knows. Abe’s obsessed with the subject. People avoid him like the plague.’’ He took a drink of his wine. ‘‘If Abe keeps pushing that petition, he’s liable to lose his bid to get reelected in the fall.’’
She laughed. ‘‘Politics are fun in a small town. I’d forgotten that.’’
‘‘Don’t let Abe hear you say so. He takes his job as mayor very seriously.’’
‘‘That’s part of what makes it fun. People are earnest instead of cynical.’’ She was surprised to discover she’d finished off her wine.
‘‘More?’’ He set down his goblet and picked up the bottle.
‘‘Why not?’’ She held out her goblet for a refill. The evening was getting back on track, and she was feeling more mellow by the minute.
‘‘I’m glad you like it.’’ Jeremy poured her wine and topped off his own.
‘‘I noticed Abe’s wife, Madeline, is still waitressing over at the Hob Knob,’’ Annie said.
‘‘Yeah. I think she’ll be there forever.’’
‘‘And she’s still pushing sugar.’’ Annie shook her head. ‘‘She was determined to supply Melody and me with enough cinnamon rolls to feed an army. I had to get out of there fast.’’ She glanced at her wineglass. ‘‘I shouldn’t be drinking this, either, but it’s so good.’’