Half Moon Harbor by Donna Kauffman Page B

and the limber thighs and . . . damn. He shifted in his seat again. But there was no getting past the hair. That plain brown, pulled-back-in-a-tail hair was a completely different beast. Released on its own recognizance, it was a damp, wild thing with a life of its own, curls and waves bouncing and coiling about her head like Medusa’s snakes. Only a hell of a lot sexier.
    â€œI’ve made tea,” he said, knowing it sounded every bit as inane as he suddenly felt. He started to push back his chair and stand, thinking that doing something, anything, to redirect his attention would be a good idea, only to realize at the last possible moment that standing would reveal certain . . . reactions. While fair was fair given the raging nipples she was sporting, standing seemed rather a bit too . . . aggressive on his part.
    â€œIf I had known about you,” she said, ignoring the tea comment, “I’d have made a point of meeting you and discussing things before going forward. As I said before, I was led to believe that the entire property had been abandoned decades ago.”
    â€œCami told you that?” he asked, turning his attention back to the papers, willing his body to turn its attention to something else, as well.
    â€œYou know, I ran our conversations through my mind while I was in the shower, and I realized that she was careful in how she presented the place, but the intent was for me to believe that it was abandoned and up for grabs.” Grace went down the stairs and bent to ruffle the fur on Whomper’s head, sending him into blissful, wriggling rapture.
    Brodie glanced over in time to see her heart in her eyes as she gave the mutt a scratch behind the ears for good measure.
    Only a hint of that indulgent smile remained when she straightened and crossed the room toward the small kitchen, but he knew it would be a very long time before he erased that look from his mind. Lucky dog.
    She cast him a quick glance, but he was mercifully saved from having to pretend he wasn’t looking at the front of his old T-shirt when she skirted the table and went directly to the teapot still sitting on the stove.
    â€œSo,” she said, filling the empty teacup he’d left on the counter for her, “what did you do to annoy the Cove’s number-one Realtor? Or is that advertisement not true, either? She seemed pretty knowledgeable about the area, I will say. Said she was born here.”
    Caught off guard by the insult, Brodie’s mouth dropped open, but it only took him a moment to regroup. “You’ve concluded after knowing me for less than an hour that it was somehow something I’ve done. Would this be a broad gender classification I’m being assigned, or have I done something to specifically lead you to that assumption?”
    He saw the hint of a smile ghost her lips as she pulled out a chair and set across from him, cradling her teacup between her hands. That reminded him. “Did you get the splinter out?” He nodded to her palm.
    â€œMostly. I borrowed a few Band-Aids from the medicine cabinet.” She lifted her hand and flashed him a palm covered with two small strips. “I hope you don’t mind. And no, I wasn’t man bashing, merely making an observation based on, well, my observations.” A wry smile peeked out more fully around the corners of her teacup and did the damndest thing to him.
    He was reaching across the small table for her hand before he even realized his intent—which was to touch her. Somehow, some way. He gently pried her hand from the teacup, which she set down.
    Her lifted eyebrows clearly indicating her surprise at the move. And yet, she didn’t pull her hand away. “It’s fine.”
    â€œMostly,” he echoed, then cradled her hand while tugging the small strips up and off. “Well, ye’ve gone and butchered it up now, haven’t you?”
    â€œI got the biggest one.”
    A smile threatened