said, "Yes, come in."
She pushed the door open and arranged herself in its frame. The wide window on the landing was behind her. She knew golden sunlight was spilling around her like a halo, shining through her hair, bathing her skin with light. "I hope I'm not disturbing you," she said, hoping just the opposite.
"No. I've still go some studying to do, but I'm almost finished." He was sitting at a paper-strewn desk. A Bible and several research books lay open on it. A portable typewriter contained a piece of paper on which several lines had been typed.
"Mom and John will be along in a while." Why wouldn't he look directly at her? He seemed intent on mutilating a paperclip with fingers she could swear were nervous.
"How's the fishing?" he asked, glancing up. His blue eyes made a rapid inspection of her legs in the shorts she'd worn to the stream, and a lengthier inspection of her bare midriff below her halter top, before he dropped his eyes once again to the infernal paperclip.
"John had caught three when I left. Mom's still working on a bite."
"Good, good," he said in a voice that told her he didn't care anymore about the results of the fishing expedition than she did.
"Do you need the bathroom?" she asked, stretching her arms lazily over her head.
"Uh … no," he said. "No."
"I'm going to take a nice long bubble bath before dinner." She dropped her arms and shook her body as though in eager anticipation of the sensual luxury of the bath. The motion caused her breasts to move bewitchingly beneath her top. A motion, if his dazed expression was any indication, that didn't go undetected.
"Fine.I don't … won't … you'll have the bathroom to yourself."
"Okay," she said offhandedly before she pivoted on her heel and left the doorjamb.
Minutes later, the tapping sound made by the keys of his manual typewriter came through the connecting door. That he was still able to work vexed Shay as she lay in the tubful of hot, bubbly water. But she smiled slyly when she recalled the uneasy look on his face each time his eyes had wandered in her direction. He was well aware of her as a woman. Even if his mind willed it not to be so, his body defied him.
Of course Shay didn't want to go any further than mild flirtation. She only wanted to pay him back for the times he had looked at her with tolerant amusement, much as one would look at a willful child. He deserved to be paid back for the humiliation he'd heaped on her.
When she was finished with her bath, making as many splashing noises as she could and humming "The Summer of '42" under her breath, she rinsed out her lingerie in the sink and draped each sheer, lacy article on the shower curtain rod. Though she usually slept in the raw, she'd brought along a nightgown in case her mother complained. It hung on a hook behind the door connecting to his room. Each time he reached for the doorknob, he would come in contact with the silky yellow fabric trimmed with ecru lace as fine as a spider's web. If he moved it, he'd have to handle it even more. Before leaving the steamy bathroom, she misted it heavily with her perfume.
She tapped on the bathroom door. The typing ceased abruptly. "Yes, Shay?"
"I'm all done now. The bathroom's yours if you need it."
"Thanks," was all he said, though it was a long time before she heard the typewriter again.
She knew her scheme had failed when he came down to dinner. John and Celia had returned in plenty of time to rest and clean up before the evening meal. As promised, John cooked succulent steaks and baked potatoes on an outdoor charcoal grill. Shay and Celia prepared a huge tossed green salad and all the trimmings.
Shay was ladling sour cream from the carton into a serving dish when Ian pushed through the swinging door smelling of soap and his distinctive cologne. "I'm starving. When's dinner?" The jauntiness of his walk and the carefree lilt in his voice worried her. He shouldn't be feeling nearly so cocky.
Celia laughed charmingly at him.
She pushed the door open and arranged herself in its frame. The wide window on the landing was behind her. She knew golden sunlight was spilling around her like a halo, shining through her hair, bathing her skin with light. "I hope I'm not disturbing you," she said, hoping just the opposite.
"No. I've still go some studying to do, but I'm almost finished." He was sitting at a paper-strewn desk. A Bible and several research books lay open on it. A portable typewriter contained a piece of paper on which several lines had been typed.
"Mom and John will be along in a while." Why wouldn't he look directly at her? He seemed intent on mutilating a paperclip with fingers she could swear were nervous.
"How's the fishing?" he asked, glancing up. His blue eyes made a rapid inspection of her legs in the shorts she'd worn to the stream, and a lengthier inspection of her bare midriff below her halter top, before he dropped his eyes once again to the infernal paperclip.
"John had caught three when I left. Mom's still working on a bite."
"Good, good," he said in a voice that told her he didn't care anymore about the results of the fishing expedition than she did.
"Do you need the bathroom?" she asked, stretching her arms lazily over her head.
"Uh … no," he said. "No."
"I'm going to take a nice long bubble bath before dinner." She dropped her arms and shook her body as though in eager anticipation of the sensual luxury of the bath. The motion caused her breasts to move bewitchingly beneath her top. A motion, if his dazed expression was any indication, that didn't go undetected.
"Fine.I don't … won't … you'll have the bathroom to yourself."
"Okay," she said offhandedly before she pivoted on her heel and left the doorjamb.
Minutes later, the tapping sound made by the keys of his manual typewriter came through the connecting door. That he was still able to work vexed Shay as she lay in the tubful of hot, bubbly water. But she smiled slyly when she recalled the uneasy look on his face each time his eyes had wandered in her direction. He was well aware of her as a woman. Even if his mind willed it not to be so, his body defied him.
Of course Shay didn't want to go any further than mild flirtation. She only wanted to pay him back for the times he had looked at her with tolerant amusement, much as one would look at a willful child. He deserved to be paid back for the humiliation he'd heaped on her.
When she was finished with her bath, making as many splashing noises as she could and humming "The Summer of '42" under her breath, she rinsed out her lingerie in the sink and draped each sheer, lacy article on the shower curtain rod. Though she usually slept in the raw, she'd brought along a nightgown in case her mother complained. It hung on a hook behind the door connecting to his room. Each time he reached for the doorknob, he would come in contact with the silky yellow fabric trimmed with ecru lace as fine as a spider's web. If he moved it, he'd have to handle it even more. Before leaving the steamy bathroom, she misted it heavily with her perfume.
She tapped on the bathroom door. The typing ceased abruptly. "Yes, Shay?"
"I'm all done now. The bathroom's yours if you need it."
"Thanks," was all he said, though it was a long time before she heard the typewriter again.
She knew her scheme had failed when he came down to dinner. John and Celia had returned in plenty of time to rest and clean up before the evening meal. As promised, John cooked succulent steaks and baked potatoes on an outdoor charcoal grill. Shay and Celia prepared a huge tossed green salad and all the trimmings.
Shay was ladling sour cream from the carton into a serving dish when Ian pushed through the swinging door smelling of soap and his distinctive cologne. "I'm starving. When's dinner?" The jauntiness of his walk and the carefree lilt in his voice worried her. He shouldn't be feeling nearly so cocky.
Celia laughed charmingly at him.
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