Balancing Act by Fern Michaels Page B

stared across the water and it hit her like a bolt of lightning. Those are things I do, not who I am. I’m Rita Bellamy. Me, Rita, the person.
    Something strange was happening to her, had been happening to her since she arrived. She was looking at things differently, feeling things.
    She felt comfortable sitting here on the pier thinking about her life and where it was going. For the first time in nearly two years she felt comfortable with herself. She felt comfortable with her wants, and right now she wanted to talk to Twigg Peterson. She debated going back to the cottage for the stew and realized it was nothing more than a prop. She didn’t need a prop. She didn’t want a prop. She slithered sideways and got to her knees and then to her feet. There were still no lights on in the Johnson cottage.
    Rita lengthened her stride and almost ran to the cottage. She rapped loudly and waited for some response. When none came, she knocked a second time, this time so loud her knuckles smarted. There was still no answer. Without hesitating, Rita opened the door and peered into the dimness. There was no sign of anyone. God, what if he was in the bedroom with a woman? She swallowed hard. There was only one way to find out. She reached for the wall switch and the living room came to life. Carefully, she tiptoed to the bedroom and inched the door open. Twigg lay sprawled across the bed fully dressed in the clothes he had been wearing the night before. Was it possible he had slept through the day? She had to know if he was all right before she left. She inched her way over the polished plank floor and dropped soundlessly to her knees. Satisfied that his breathing was deep and regular. She was getting to her feet when a long arm snaked out and reached for her. Caught off guard she floundered and then fell on top of a laughing Twigg. “I may be a heavy sleeper, but not that heavy. I was aware of you the minute you walked in the door.”
    “I wanted to be sure you were all right. I didn’t see any lights and I thought . . .”
    “That your sausage and peppers made me sick.” Twigg grinned, his grip on her arm secure.
    “No. I just wanted to see you and talk to you,” Rita said honestly.
    “Talk,” Twigg said, rolling over on one elbow. His grip never lessened as he brought his face within inches of her own. Rita could smell his warm, sleepy breath as he stared into her eyes. She felt an exultant thump of warm delight as she saw the glowing, ardent look in his gaze.
    Rita tried to inch back a bit. “Now that I know you’re all right I have to get back to work. Why don’t you come over for lunch tomorrow if you’re not too busy?” Rita asked impulsively as she struggled to withdraw her arm. Damn, she had forgotten how long his arms were.
    “You’re a damn beautiful woman, Rita Bellamy,” Twigg said quietly.
    Positioned half on the bed and half off, Rita felt awkward and flustered. She had always found compliments of any kind hard to handle. Certainly, no one had ever called her beautiful, not even Brett. She became more aware of her surroundings, the double, maple, four-poster and the man staring at her. But more than that she was aware of her thumping heart and her fast-beating pulse. She had to say something to this man who wanted more than she was prepared to give. She tried to pull away. His grip was firm.
    “I want you in this bed next to me. You know that, don’t you?” Twigg said quietly. “I think I want you more than I’ve ever wanted a woman before.” Twigg was shocked at how true the words were. He did want her. He did desire her. Goddamn it, he liked her and that was something he couldn’t say about too many women in his circle of friends.
    Rita met his unflinching gaze. “You barely know me. Twigg, you’re thirty-two years old. I’m forty-three years old, ten years older than you. Why, you’re not that much older than my children.” Had she responded correctly? She had come here to talk, maybe have him