Once upon a Dream (22 page)

“What made you so happy?” She matched her steps to his.

“I'd forgotten how much I enjoy puttering. There's just
something so satisfying about being able to work with my hands. I was able to patch the hull of the
Odyssey.
It's pretty crude, but it'll keep her from sinking until I can contact someone at the marina to come and haul her in to dry dock.”

“Oh, that's good news.” Annie paused to glance back at the sailboat, bobbing in the shallows. “What about the sails?”

He shook his head. “Not too much I can do about them. She'll need to be outfitted with new sails and rigging over the wintertime. But at least she's seaworthy.”

Annie looked down at the string of fish. “I'm glad you were able to catch our dinner.”

“Want to help me clean them?”

She wrinkled her nose. “No, thanks. Not my idea of a good time.”

“Come on.” He closed a hand around her shoulder. “It'll be fun. I promise.”

Laughing, he looked down into her eyes and absorbed a purely sexual jolt.

For a second Annie simply couldn't breathe. Her blood ran hot from the way he was looking at her.

His voice lowered. “I don't claim to know what's happening to me, Annie. I've never been one to act on impulse. But right now I want to kiss you more than anything in the world.”

His gaze lowered to her mouth, and she felt the kiss as surely as if he'd already covered her mouth with his.

She ran her tongue over lips that had gone dry as dust. “I…don't think that would be wise, Ben.”

“To hell with being wise. It occurs to me that all my life I've been too damned sensible.”

He dragged her against him, covering her mouth with his.

Heat. It engulfed Annie in waves and buckled her knees. Though she knew she ought to resist, it just wasn't possible. One hand dropped limply at her side, still holding tightly to the string of fish. Her other hand curled into
his sleeve and clung as his lips moved over hers.

Ben breathed her in, loving the intriguing scent that was uniquely hers. In fact, he loved everything about her. The taste of her. The texture of her skin. The way she seemed to fit so perfectly against him.

Where had this need come from? The need to kiss her until they were both breathless. One minute he'd been happily thinking about the work he'd accomplished. The next he'd found his mind wiped clean of all thoughts but one—Annie. The need to hold her. To kiss her until she was weak and clinging.

His hand tightened at her waist, drawing her closer as he drank her in. She tasted as cool and as fresh as spring rain. He kept his eyes open, watching the way her lids fluttered, casting shadows on her cheeks. Such high, perfect cheekbones, he thought. The kind models would kill for. As he deepened the kiss he saw the slight flush of desire. Felt the way her breath hitched, the way she shivered when his thumbs skimmed her breasts. It was absolutely intoxicating, and he thought he could go on like this for hours, pleasuring himself with only her.

With an effort he stopped himself just short of devouring her. “Has anyone ever told you taste as good as you look?”

“No.” She found even that single word an effort as she took a step back, lifting her head. “But then, I haven't had too many men sampling the wares.”

“Fools. They don't know what they're missing.” He ran a hand lightly up her arm. “Want to go for seconds?”

“Not likely.” It shamed her to admit that, even while she was denying it, it was exactly what she wanted. This kiss had left her hungry for much more.

He merely grinned. She was as transparent as the glass-topped table on the patio. It was obvious that he made her as uncomfortable as she made him. That pleased him more than he cared to admit.

He pointed to the string of fish. “Are they tugging on the line? Or is that your hand trembling, Annie Tyler?”

“My hand, damn you.” But she managed to smile as she said it. There was something in his eyes, something hot and fierce that put her on edge. She didn't think it wise to push too hard.

She took a step back and set the string of fish on the grill. “I think I'll leave you to the joy of fish-scaling. I'll just go inside and start writing up my impressions of what I've seen so far.”

“Okay, coward. Run away. But we haven't finished this.”

She fought to ignore the flutter in the pit of her stomach.

When he turned away, his voice cooled. As did the heat in his eyes. He was in control of his emotions again, at least for the moment. But that was only because he wasn't touching her. “Give me about an hour, and dinner will be ready.”

“All right. Want me to set the table?”

“I wouldn't want to deprive you of all the fun of your paperwork,” he deadpanned. “Leave the table to me.”

When she stepped inside the kitchen she paused to let out the breath she'd been unconsciously holding. How were she and Ben going to get through another evening without giving in to all this passion that was heating up between them?

Maybe, if they were lucky, Win would complete his surprise in time to join them. There was safety in numbers, she reminded herself.

If Win didn't join them, she would just have to play it very cool and retire to her room as quickly as good manners would allow. It was, after all, their last night together.

So why did that thought bring her no pleasure? Because, she realized, she'd really wanted him to take that kiss further. To push them both to the edge. And maybe even take the tumble.

A
NNIE KICKED OFF
her shoes and noted that they were damp, as were her stockings and the cuffs of her slacks. Her own clothes, which she'd left hanging in the closet, were still too wet to wear, so she was forced to return once more to the store of vintage clothing. This time she chose a long, slinky dress in shell pink with matching shoes. As she studied herself in the full-length looking glass, she was startled by her reflection. She looked like one of the pictures in her grandmother's album. She stepped closer, examining herself more carefully. It wasn't just the the clothes. It was something else as well. Her eyes were the same, though she'd always thought them a bit too wide. The same turned-up nose dusted with freckles. The same generous mouth. The same teeth, one of them slightly crooked. But there was something new. Maybe it was her attitude. She felt completely relaxed, as though the cares of the real world had slipped away.

She shook her head and took a step back. Silly. The power may have been lost in the storm, but that didn't
mean that her responsibilities had disappeared. She still knew how to work. She would do what she'd come here to do. Chart the possibilities, the selling points, and then return to her office in Tranquility and get to work for her client.

She made her way resolutely to the guest bedroom, determined to stay busy until dinner was ready. She settled herself at the lovely Queen Anne desk in the upstairs sitting room and began making notes on the property and buildings she'd examined. Next to this house, she estimated the beach house to be the most important building at White Pines. Just steps from the shore, it was a small guest cottage, with a simple, open design that incorporated a galley kitchen, great room, bedroom, and bath. The wall facing the water was all glass, filling the rooms with light. There were skylights in the ceiling, allowing for even more light. Though the interior showed its age, with faded paint and outdated carpeting, it could be upgraded at minimal cost. That would be an important selling point.

Then there was the stable. The apartment above it added even more value to the property. It could be billed as a caretaker's apartment, something an estate of this size would need.

She leaned back, thinking about the current tenant of the apartment. How long had Win Carrington been here? From the looks of his studio, he appeared to be a longtime resident. Yet his mother hadn't said a word about him. In fact, she'd led Annie to believe White Pines would be deserted.

Maybe he planned on leaving as soon as he presented Ben with his surprise.

Ben. What was she going to do about him? The more time she spent in his presence, the more intrigued she became. The angry, impatient stranger she'd first encountered seemed to be changing before her eyes. That veneer of sophistication was slipping away. As was the pain she'd seen on that first evening. Despite the fact that he'd
missed his plane and had been cut off from all communication, he didn't seem to mind nearly as much as she'd have expected. But then, the inconveniences weren't bothering her, either. In fact, she'd almost forgotten about the fact that she and Ben had been cut off from the outside world for almost twenty-four hours.

Life had gone on without any noticeable interruption.

She blinked, wondering how long she'd been sitting here. She'd better head downstairs to see if Ben needed any help with their dinner. As she descended the stairs, she felt the whisper of fabric brushing her ankles. She slowed her movements, loving the way this old gown made her feel. Sexy. Sophisticated. Glamorous.

She paused when she saw Ben standing across the room, watching her.

He was wearing a pair of his grandfather's dark pants and a white tennis sweater, which gave him an air of sophistication as well. On his face was a look of intense concentration that she'd begun to recognize.

“Sorry. Am I late?”

“No. Wait.” He held up a hand.

“What's wrong?” She froze in mid-stride.

“Nothing. I just wanted a minute longer to admire the view. You look”—he started toward her—“like a character out of one of those old black-and-white movies.” He caught her hand and helped her down the final step. “Only better. Much better.”

“Thanks.” She felt herself grinning. “As a matter of fact, you do, too. We could do a Fred and Ginger impersonation. Want to dance?”

“Yeah. Sorry there's no music.” He pulled her into his arms and swept her into a graceful circle. This time he was ready for the jolt. He absorbed it and enjoyed the way the heat begin to spread through his veins. “Can you whistle?”

“No. But I can hum. What would you like to hear?”

“Something with a beat.”

Instead, she started humming an old waltz as he moved
with her around the room. His lips were pressed to her temple in a most provocative way that had her heart beating overtime.

She looked up and found to her dismay that their lips were almost touching. “Not bad. I'd say you've been practicing.”

He shook his head and kept his gaze steady on her mouth. “I haven't danced in years. I'd forgotten how pleasant it can be.”

She took a step back. “Are you going to offer me a drink?”

“Yeah.” Keeping hold of her hand, he led her to the patio, where the table was already set, complete with candles.

A bottle of wine sat chilling in a bucket of ice.

Annie stared in surprise. “You did all this?”

He shrugged, more than a little pleased at the look on her face. “I thought the evening called for candles and wine. It's probably the last time I'll have a chance to eat here at White Pines. I thought it was a fitting tribute to the old family homestead.”

“More than fitting.” She waited while he filled two goblets and handed one to her. She sipped. “Nice wine.”

“Merlot. I told you, my mother has good taste.” He stepped closer, inhaling her intoxicating fragrance. “And so do you, Annie. That dress looks like it was made for you.”

“It's funny. I thought I'd feel foolish wearing something of your grandmother's. But I don't. In fact, it feels just perfect. This dress seems to suit this house. This occasion.” She felt herself flushing under his scrutiny. “I guess that sounds silly.”

“Not at all. I was thinking the same thing.” He caught her hand and led her across the patio to a low stone wall. Beyond was the lawn that sloped to the water.

“While I was cooking, I found myself thinking back to all the good times I've enjoyed here through the years.” Ben smiled with the memories. “Sailing on the bay. Fish
ing from the dock. Chasing fireflies after dark. And the parties. Every Fourth of July my grandparents used to invite all their family and friends to celebrate. My grandfather would hire a barge to anchor offshore and send up a fireworks display. We would all sit here on this wall, or spill out there on the lawn, and watch the night sky turn into the most amazing show.”

Annie lifted her head. “Even without the fireworks, that's quite an amazing show.”

The sky was glorious ribbons of pink and mauve, with a setting sun that gilded the edges of the clouds. A movie director couldn't have ordered a more perfect background. It was a scene that couldn't help but soothe away the cares of the day.

Without thinking, she touched a hand to Ben's arm. “It must have been wonderful growing up here.”

He closed a hand over hers and smiled. “It was.”

“How can your mother bear to part with something filled with so many happy memories?”

“Strange.” He looked out at the peaceful bay. “A day ago, I'd have said the bad memories far outweigh the good. But now that I've had a chance to spend some time here again, all I can remember are the good times.” He turned to smile at her. “Such good times.”

They stood for long minutes, drinking in the beauty of the evening.

He turned away, still holding her hand. “Come on. Our dinner will get cold.”

She followed him to the table, where he held her chair. When she was seated, he placed a platter of appetizers in front of her.

Her eyes widened. “Shrimp?”

“They were in the freezer, along with a fabulous assortment of seafood. I just sautéed them in a little garlic and oil.”

“Do they taste as wonderful as they smell?”

“There's only one way to find out.” He took the seat
beside her and spooned some onto her plate. He watched as she bit into one. “Well?”

“Fantastic.” She tasted several, then looked up in surprise. “Is this one lobster?”

His smile was back. “I told you. My…”

“I know.” She laughed and put a hand over his to stop his words. “Your mother's exquisite taste again. Remind me to thank her.”

“I will.” He wondered if she knew what her touch was doing to him. Just the merest press of her hand, and he was pleasantly warm again.

He topped off her wine, then his own. “Wait until you taste the fish. There's nothing better than fish fresh from the bay.”

“You mean you cheated and already ate some?”

“The privilege of being the cook.” He took a bite of shrimp and another of lobster. “I make a fantastic seafood gumbo. You'll have to taste it sometime.”

“I'd love to. How'd you learn to cook, Ben?”

“Necessity. While I was in law school I shared my first apartment with three buddies. It was always littered with take-out cartons and fast-food wrappers. I think the only thing we made from scratch for three years was peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches.”

She laughed. “Sounds a lot like the apartment I shared with my friends in college. But you forgot to mention the mounds of dirty laundry. And music blasting at deafening decibels at all hours of the day and night.”

He joined in the laughter. “Yeah. That, too. I have to admit I don't miss any of it. Well, not much, anyway. I promised myself that when I had a place of my own, I'd fill it with good books, good music, and good food.”

“Seems to me I promised myself that, too. But somewhere along the line I got too busy to follow through. So how did you learn to cook? By trial and error? Or did you invest in a library of cookbooks?”

“Trial and error mostly. Whenever I tasted something
I really liked, I'd ask the cook for the recipe. Then I'd go home and try it out.”

“I'm impressed.”

“Don't be too quick to heap praise. Let's see if you still say that when you're finished.” He pushed away from the table and crossed to the grill. Minutes later he set down a platter of sizzling fish surrounded by grilled vegetables on a bed of rice.

Annie tasted and sighed. “All right. I've decided you're in the wrong profession. Forget the law. You really ought to be doing this for a living.”

He couldn't hide his pleasure at her words of praise. “I'll admit it's satisfying. But only when there's someone to enjoy it with me. It isn't much fun cooking for one.”

“I know what you mean.” Annie sipped her wine and savored her meal. “Most nights I'm so tired by the time I get back to my apartment that the last thing on my mind is cooking. I just take something out of the freezer and nuke it.”

“How many hours a day do you put in at your business?”

She shrugged. “Who counts? I just squeeze in as many clients as possible. When I run out of hours I start over the next day.”

“Sounds familiar.” He topped off her wine again and thought about his own days and nights of never-ending work. How long had it been since he'd taken a vacation? Or even a day off work? How long since he'd spent this much time with a beautiful, fascinating woman?

She was beautiful, he thought as he watched her finish her meal. And fun to be with. He loved the sound of her voice. That low, breathless quality that never failed to move him. The way her laughter made his heart feel lighter.

“Oh, look.” She touched a hand to his shoulder and pointed to the sky. “A falling star. Quick. Make a wish.”

He turned in time to see her close her eyes.

When she opened them she saw him smiling. “What's so amusing?”

“I didn't think anyone still believed in that.”

“You mean you don't?”

He shook his head. “But you do.”

She shrugged, then gave an embarrassed laugh. “It's just an old habit from my childhood. I remember my father telling me to always wish on a shooting star. But one night after he and my mother had been lost…” She took a deep breath, amazed that even all these years later, she could still feel the shadow of pain. “I stayed awake all night, hoping I could see a falling star so I could wish on it.”

“And did you?”

She nodded. “I remember wishing with all my might. And crying the next morning, when I told my grandmother that it was silly and stupid, because nothing was ever going to bring my parents back.” She smiled now, remembering. “Gram said that sometimes, even when wishes can't come true, it's because there's something even better just around the corner.”

“Not exactly what a teen wants to hear, is it?” He wondered if she had any idea how inviting she looked in the dark with candlelight weaving its magic around her.

“Maybe not. But it left quite an impression. From that day on, I've always believed that it isn't so important to have what I want. I can always live on the hope that something better is about to happen.”

“Don't tell me you're one of those who believe that out of every lousy thing that happens in our lives, something good will come.”

“Only if we let it. If we close our hearts to the possibilities, how can the good find its way in?”

She saw his eyes narrow as he thought over what she'd said.

A sudden gust of wind ruffled her hair and threatened to extinguish the candles.

Ben touched a hand to hers. “I think we'd better get inside and start a fire.”

He stood and began to gather up the dishes, surprised at how dark it had grown. Where had the time gone? Time. He'd lost all track of it since the power went out. Or maybe just being with this fascinating woman made him forget about the time.