Uncharted Waters (5 page)

Muttering a curse under his breath, he started down the sidewalk toward the bungalow at a determined clip. The house was older and small with lush tropical landscaping and plenty of windows. Typical South Florida, he thought, trying to remember the last time he'd taken any pride in his own home, where the landscaping was overgrown, the hurricane shutters badly in need of paint.

He reached the porch and knocked on the door. Because his palms were damp, he wiped them on his jeans and did his best to look nonchalant. This was
not
a big deal, he reminded himself. Damn it, it wasn't.

The door swung open a moment later. Drew looked down to see the little boy looking up at him. The big grin on his face revealed hit-or-miss teeth and a frothy milk mustache. He wore faded Spider-Man pajamas. His feet were bare and his hair was sticking up at the crown like a rooster's tail.

Drew wasn't used to being around kids and for an instant he didn't know what to say. Of all the scenarios he could have faced this morning, this wasn't one of them. “Hi,” he said after an interminable moment.

The little boy's eyebrows went up. “Do Mommy and me get to take another plane ride?”

Drew shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Really?”

Drew glanced into the living room. “It might be a good idea to check with your mom first, though.”

“She'll probably say no.”

“Why's that?”

Kevin frowned down at his bare feet, looking dejected. “I burned my toast.”

“Oh.” Vaguely, Drew wondered how that constituted her shooting down a private tour of the Keys, but let it go. He looked down at the boy, felt his eyes narrow. “Aren't you supposed to ask who it is before you open the door?”

“I forgot,” he confessed, then glanced up at Drew, his big brown eyes challenging. “You gonna tell on me?”

“Depends. You think you can remember to ask who's at the door from now on?”

Looking hopeful, Kevin nodded adamantly. “Yeah.”

“I'll see what I can do, okay?” Because he was light-years out of his element, Drew cleared his throat. “Is your mom around?”

“She's in the kitchen trying to get my toast out of the toaster. It's stuck in there really bad. I think she might be mad.”

“Mad, huh?” For some reason, the thought of Alison angry over a piece of burned toast made him smile. “Mind if I come in?”

“I guess it's okay. I mean, since you know how to fly an airplane and everything.” The little boy stepped back and swung the door wide. “I'm gonna be a pilot
when I grow up. You want to see my Zoomer 57 Skyeagle?”

Scrubbing his hand over his jaw to hide his smile, Drew stepped inside. “Ah, maybe after I talk to your mom, okay?”

“'Kay.”

He could smell the burned toast now, but it was laced with something else that was definitely not edible. In the back of his mind he wondered what else Kevin had put down the toaster. He wondered if Alison had remembered to unplug the appliance before attempting to pry it out of the slot.

He looked around the small living room. Even though Alison and Kevin had only recently moved in, she'd already managed to transform the house into a home. It was neat, but had a comfortable, lived-in look and personal touches that told him someone cared deeply. Rattan furniture was tastefully arranged in the cozy living area. Fluffy pillows and a bright red toy car littered the overstuffed easy chair. An array of books filled the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. He saw hardcovers and paperbacks, bestsellers, cookbooks, and several medical books on asthma and allergies. Dozens of photographs of Kevin at different ages and of Rick's parents were displayed on the mantel above the hearth. The moving boxes strewn about were empty, and Drew figured they would be going back to the moving company soon. Across from the television set where Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote duked it out, a TV tray sported a plate with a sunny-side up egg, a link of sausage and glasses of milk and orange juice—no toast.

“She's in the kitchen.” Kevin took a big gulp of milk, then pointed.

Taking a deep breath, Drew started for the kitchen.
Even from the hall, he could hear Alison grumbling. She was pounding on something and she wasn't the least bit happy about it. He entered the kitchen to find her at the counter with her back to him, about to insert a fork into the toaster slot. The first thing that registered in his mind was that the toaster was, indeed, unplugged. That was good. The second thing that registered was that she was wearing a very short robe that rode high on a set of very pretty legs. That was bad. Very, very bad.

For several long seconds Drew just stood there, staring at her, wondering how he was going to get through this without doing something stupid. He tried hard not to ogle her. Damn it, he didn't
want
to acknowledge just how good she looked in that robe. That her legs were long and silky and shapely as hell. Or that she painted her toenails the color of cherry ice cream.

His eyes did a slow, dangerous sweep of her. From the top of her blond head, which was clad in big rollers, past slender shoulders, a waist so narrow he could span it with his hands, all the way to her very sexy toes. The robe was comfortably worn and faded to pale blue. He noticed the roundness of her bottom through the thin fabric, felt his mouth go dry.

She shouldn't have looked sexy standing there wearing a threadbare robe and curlers in her hair. But she did, and the sight of her hit him between the eyes like a jet traveling at supersonic speed.

Suddenly, the kitchen seemed too small. Drew was aware of his heart drumming in his chest. The uncomfortable rush of blood to his groin that made his jeans feel two sizes too small. The slick of sweat on the back of his neck dripped down between his shoulder blades. The combination of lust and guilt and a dozen other
emotions he didn't want to name hammered at him like hailstones against glass until he thought he would shatter. He looked at her bare legs, wondered what it would be like to run his hands over the flesh, to have those legs wrapped around his waist....

Shamed that he could be having such thoughts about his best friend's widow, Drew started to back out of the room, but his hand bumped the milk carton on the counter. A quick spurt of adrenaline had him reaching for it, but he wasn't fast enough to keep it from toppling.

“Kevin Myers, I thought I told you to—” Alison's words ended when she spotted him. Her eyes widened. She raised her hand to touch the curlers in her hair. Pink splotches bloomed on both cheeks. Blinking, she quickly straightened while simultaneously tugging the hem of the robe toward her knees. “Oh, Drew...hello. I...wasn't expecting you.”

“Sorry to drop in so early.” He looked over at the spilled milk and frowned. “I was...in the neighborhood.”

She blinked. “Oh...well.”

Spotting the roll of paper towels mounted on the underside of the cabinet above the sink, he strode over to it and tugged several off the roll. “Sorry about the milk.”

She glanced toward the small puddle on the counter and waved it off. “What's a little spilled milk when Spider-Man is stuck in the toaster?”

He didn't have the slightest idea what she was talking about. It was as if his brain had taken leave the instant he'd laid eyes on her and seen all those curves and that long stretch of leg. He knew he should address the statement, but feared if he opened his mouth, he
might just drool. “I should have called first,” he managed to say. “You look...busy.”

“I'm never too busy for you.”

Another drop of sweat slid between his shoulder blades. “I'm kind of an early bird.”

“I'm glad you dropped in. We didn't really get the chance to talk yesterday.” She frowned down at the toaster. “I'm usually dressed by now, but Kevin tried to toast his Spider-Man action figure while I was in the shower.”

Drew wasn't sure why it pleased him that she was so flustered. Maybe because he was, too. He turned to throw the wet paper towels away, hoping she wouldn't notice the state the sight of her had left him in. He tried to attribute his quick arousal to his lack of a social life. But he knew his feelings for Alison went deeper than that. That was one of the things that made seeing her again so hard.

“Can I give you a hand with Spider-Man?” he asked.

She glanced down at the toaster and nodded, smiling. “One search-and-rescue pilot to the rescue.”

They both knew he was no longer a search-and-rescue pilot, but he didn't bother to correct her. He walked over to her, careful not to get too close, and eased the toaster from her hands. “Looks like Spider-Man's in big trouble.” He looked into the slot. “I think his arm is melted onto one of the heating elements.”

“I tried to cut it off, but I think there's a wire in there.”

“Got needle-nose pliers?”

Biting her lip, she started for the counter. “My junk drawer is not up to its usual standard since we just
moved, but I vaguely remember seeing a pair of pliers.”

Of their own volition, Drew's eyes followed her as she crossed to the room and opened a drawer. There was something incredibly sexy about a woman's bare feet against a tile floor. Especially when those feet were connected to long, long legs and hips that just didn't quit...

“Here you go.”

Her voice jerked him from his reverie. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other to accommodate his erection, he took the pliers from her and inserted the tip into the toaster slot to extricate the figurine. He tried hard to keep his concentration on the business at hand, but he wasn't having much success.

“Looks like we might have to bring out the heavy machinery,” she said, moving a little closer as if to get a better look.

Drew glanced up to find her smiling at him and struggled to find a comeback that didn't have anything to do with velvet flesh or pretty blue eyes.

“You know,” she said. “Jaws of life.”

“There's an idea.” Not brilliant by any stretch of the imagination, but at least he wasn't speaking in tongues.

“I told Kevin a dozen times not to put things into the toaster.” She leaned closer to get a better look at the ill-fated Spider-Man. “Maybe if you can grab his leg with the pliers.”

Even though she was standing a foot away, he discerned her fresh-from-the-shower scent. The essence of some fruity shampoo and soap laced with the mysterious scent of woman. It had been a long time since he'd been close enough to a woman to smell those
things, and it was doing a real number on his imagination.

Abruptly, the image of what she might look like beneath the spray of the shower flashed hotly in his mind's eye. He saw the billow of steam. Water cascading down to sluice over velvet skin. Soap sliding over delicate curves and secret places...

The pliers slipped and tumbled from his hand. Cursing beneath his breath, he bent to retrieve them. She must have had the same idea at precisely the same time because she stooped. Their heads thudded just hard enough to jar him back to reality.

A sound escaped her on contact.

“Sorry,” he said.

“My fault.”

Drew looked over at her, reached out to steady her. Her eyes met his and she chuckled. He knew immediately touching her was a mistake. She was kneeling with her face close to his. He didn't intend to look at her legs, but the robe had ridden up slightly and for several interminable seconds he stared at the long, dangerous stretch of flesh. He wondered what kind of panties she wore. If they were silk or cotton. Or since she was fresh from the shower, maybe she wasn't wearing any at all.

Another laugh escaped her. “Good thing I have these rollers in.”

It should have been a simple moment between two old friends. Only Drew knew there was nothing simple about this moment, certainly not in terms of their friendship. What he felt for Alison Myers was as complex as any emotion he'd ever felt in his life. And he didn't have a clue how to deal with it.

Her eyes met his, and for the life of him he couldn't
look away. He reached for the fallen pliers with his free hand and slowly rose. He was acutely aware of her slender arm within his grasp as she rose with him. The feel of her pulse beneath his fingers. The thrum of blood in his veins. The insistent throb in his groin he knew wasn't going to go away any time soon no matter how much he wanted it to.

Abruptly, he released her. Tearing his gaze from hers, he looked down at the toaster, tried desperately to remember what the hell he'd been doing with it. Relief swept through him when she took a step back.

“I've just about got it,” he said, staring blindly into the slot.

An uncomfortable minute passed while he worked.

Alison cleared her throat. “So what brings you here so early in the morning?”

All the lines he'd rehearsed on the drive up from Emerald Cove played like bad jingles in his head. Because he couldn't think of a thing to say that was even halfway truthful, he settled for, “I thought you might need your toaster looked at.”

She laughed, and the simple sound filled the kitchen like sunshine, breaking the tension. It was a lovely sound that reminded him of happier times. How easy things had once been between them back when she'd belonged to another man, and he'd known exactly where he stood. It was a sound he hadn't heard in a very long time. A sound he missed, he realized. Even though he knew coming here today was a mistake, at least he understood why he'd done it.

“Well, you've got good timing.” Crossing to the coffeemaker, she removed two mugs from the cabinet and poured.

Drew pulled out the badly burned figurine. “I think
the toaster will survive,” he said, handing the pliers back to Alison and setting the appliance on the counter. “I'm not too sure about Spider-Man.”

She chuckled. “I'm not sure he's going to need that arm, anyway.”

“Good thing.”

She shoved a cup of coffee at him, then looked at him expectantly as she sipped her own.