swung his long legs onto the ladder. She tookthat smile as a silent acknowledgement of her small effort to assist.
Plus, the view from the bottom was pretty spectacular. How could she not keep her eyes glued to that glorious example of male physical perfection, especially when all he had on this morning was a pair of cargo shorts, work boots, and a tool belt? Her mouth went so dry she felt more than ready for some ice-cold lemonade.
She kept a firm grip on the ladder, as much to steady herself as to help him. As he neared the bottom, she had to resist the urge to run her tongue over his glistening back.
Get a grip, Morgan
. She let the ladder go and took a quick step away from temptation.
Ryan smiled as he planted his feet on solid ground and turned to her. “There’s no way I could resist fresh lemonade.” He flicked his gaze over her body. “Or such beautiful company.”
“You old sweet talker, you,” Morgan said, trying to cover up her nerves. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Only the ones who serve me lemonade and homemade scones.” He reached over and gently tugged on a lock of her hair.
Feeling a little breathless, Morgan led him to the table. She’d better focus on the work or she might end up dragging him into her bedroom. “I can hardly believe you’re almost done already. You really know what you’re doing up there.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s not exactly rocket science.”
Morgan smiled and filled one of the glasses with lemonade. “Sit for a while and relax. There’s no need to rush to finish. The guests aren’t going to be back for hours, so you don’t need to worry about bothering them.” TheDawsons were spending the day in Portland, while the Lyles were on a boating excursion.
“No, but I’d sure like to get in some kayaking on such a perfect day.”
Morgan had to repress a wince as she poured herself some lemonade. “You could always keep your kayak here, you know.”
Ryan nodded. “Yeah, I guess that would make sense. It should be safe to leave it on the beach, right?”
She settled into one of the chairs, and he followed suit. Morgan couldn’t help noticing that he took a long, appreciative look at her legs, all the way up to her little white shorts.
“Nobody but Daisy Whipple steals anything on the island,” she said, ignoring the way her face had heated. “And I highly doubt she’s into lugging your kayak home.”
“She’s still doing her thing, huh? My mother gave up buying garden ornaments years ago. Said she got tired of running over to Daisy’s all the time to retrieve them.”
“I’ve always thought having a town kleptomaniac added a nice dash of local color,” Morgan said. “Micah always jokes that he won’t charge Daisy unless she starts stealing cash or Red Sox memorabilia.”
Deputy Sheriff Micah Lancaster, Seashell Bay’s law officer, had been Morgan’s friend since childhood. While a tough, rugged cop, he always gave islanders a break unless they proved not to deserve it. He had a particularly soft spot in his heart for poor Daisy.
Ryan laughed. “Since he’s Seashell Bay’s biggest collector of Red Sox junk, I can see why he’d say that.”
“Junk? Deputy Lancaster better not hear you say that, my friend, or you’ll be serving time behind bars.”
“Hell, I’ve said it to him a dozen times over the years. The guy’s such a nut for the Sox that he can’t go to Fenway without coming home with an armload of crap.”
Morgan wagged a finger at him. “I wouldn’t call all those signed baseballs he’s collected crap. He’s got a Carl Yastrzemski, a Mo Vaughn, a Nomar Garciaparra, and a Pedro Martínez, plus a bunch of the newer stars. And he has hundreds and hundreds of Red Sox cards too, including some pretty valuable ones.”
“Okay, now I’m weirded out. Have you memorized his whole collection or something?”
“No, but I did help him organize it a while back. He didn’t have a good system for keeping
Plus, the view from the bottom was pretty spectacular. How could she not keep her eyes glued to that glorious example of male physical perfection, especially when all he had on this morning was a pair of cargo shorts, work boots, and a tool belt? Her mouth went so dry she felt more than ready for some ice-cold lemonade.
She kept a firm grip on the ladder, as much to steady herself as to help him. As he neared the bottom, she had to resist the urge to run her tongue over his glistening back.
Get a grip, Morgan
. She let the ladder go and took a quick step away from temptation.
Ryan smiled as he planted his feet on solid ground and turned to her. “There’s no way I could resist fresh lemonade.” He flicked his gaze over her body. “Or such beautiful company.”
“You old sweet talker, you,” Morgan said, trying to cover up her nerves. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Only the ones who serve me lemonade and homemade scones.” He reached over and gently tugged on a lock of her hair.
Feeling a little breathless, Morgan led him to the table. She’d better focus on the work or she might end up dragging him into her bedroom. “I can hardly believe you’re almost done already. You really know what you’re doing up there.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s not exactly rocket science.”
Morgan smiled and filled one of the glasses with lemonade. “Sit for a while and relax. There’s no need to rush to finish. The guests aren’t going to be back for hours, so you don’t need to worry about bothering them.” TheDawsons were spending the day in Portland, while the Lyles were on a boating excursion.
“No, but I’d sure like to get in some kayaking on such a perfect day.”
Morgan had to repress a wince as she poured herself some lemonade. “You could always keep your kayak here, you know.”
Ryan nodded. “Yeah, I guess that would make sense. It should be safe to leave it on the beach, right?”
She settled into one of the chairs, and he followed suit. Morgan couldn’t help noticing that he took a long, appreciative look at her legs, all the way up to her little white shorts.
“Nobody but Daisy Whipple steals anything on the island,” she said, ignoring the way her face had heated. “And I highly doubt she’s into lugging your kayak home.”
“She’s still doing her thing, huh? My mother gave up buying garden ornaments years ago. Said she got tired of running over to Daisy’s all the time to retrieve them.”
“I’ve always thought having a town kleptomaniac added a nice dash of local color,” Morgan said. “Micah always jokes that he won’t charge Daisy unless she starts stealing cash or Red Sox memorabilia.”
Deputy Sheriff Micah Lancaster, Seashell Bay’s law officer, had been Morgan’s friend since childhood. While a tough, rugged cop, he always gave islanders a break unless they proved not to deserve it. He had a particularly soft spot in his heart for poor Daisy.
Ryan laughed. “Since he’s Seashell Bay’s biggest collector of Red Sox junk, I can see why he’d say that.”
“Junk? Deputy Lancaster better not hear you say that, my friend, or you’ll be serving time behind bars.”
“Hell, I’ve said it to him a dozen times over the years. The guy’s such a nut for the Sox that he can’t go to Fenway without coming home with an armload of crap.”
Morgan wagged a finger at him. “I wouldn’t call all those signed baseballs he’s collected crap. He’s got a Carl Yastrzemski, a Mo Vaughn, a Nomar Garciaparra, and a Pedro Martínez, plus a bunch of the newer stars. And he has hundreds and hundreds of Red Sox cards too, including some pretty valuable ones.”
“Okay, now I’m weirded out. Have you memorized his whole collection or something?”
“No, but I did help him organize it a while back. He didn’t have a good system for keeping
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