Weekend Agreement (10 page)

A lone figure appeared on the edge of the surface. He stood looking out over the same horizon, his white shirt silver in the moonlight.

Daniel.
Her pulse quickened at the sight.

“Charlotte? Hey, Charlotte, are you there?”

Hypnotized by the vision in front of her, Charlotte switched off the phone as Judy was speaking. If pressed later, she’d blame the storm. Her friend deserved the cutoff anyway.

Daniel stood straight and still on the sand, a sentry bathed in moonlight, lost in contemplation of the waves. As he remained frozen, so did she, unable to tear her eyes from his silhouette. So dark and alone. A longing she couldn’t explain rose from deep inside her. She pressed her hand to the glass, reaching out, wishing she could touch him.

I bet you taste like the ocean too.
She shuddered, recalling the warmth of his breath on her face. What would he do if she joined him now? Would he be glad? Or would he close himself off the way he did whenever a connection between them seemed to form?

Suddenly, he turned and looked toward the house. Charlotte leaned back behind the curtain.

“Stop being silly,” she told herself. “He can’t see you.”

Daniel returned his attention to the surf. Her breath caught in her throat as he slowly peeled his shirt over his head, then stepped out of his slacks. The moonlight painted his bare body the color of the sand. He remained at the water’s edge studying the crashing surf for several seconds, then dove headlong into the waves and out of her view.

The beauty of his abandon took her breath away. This was the real Daniel. Without walls or defenses or attitude. Only the man, alone and uninhibited. She hugged her knees, admiration filling her chest. Emotion followed by bone-deep regret. This Daniel, she feared, was unreachable. Time and self-preservation had built his walls too thick. These tiny glimpses were all he’d ever allow.

And yet, for her, those glimpses colored everything about him.

Sadly, she tore her gaze away, back to the clippings strewn across her lap.

A shark, Judy called him, among all her other labels. Was she right? Was she seeing significance in places where it didn’t exist?

And what would Judy say if she knew that significance might be building feelings she had no business having?

Chapter Six

Daniel kicked his legs free from the coverlet. Outside, the morning sky dawned as gray and stormy as his mood. Last night’s argument with Vivian weighed heavily on his mind. How many times was he expected to fund Cole’s schemes, or rather, her schemes for Cole? Sometimes he thought life would have been easier if his father hadn’t left him a trust fund. Then Vivian would cut him out of her life entirely and he wouldn’t have these hassles.

You don’t have to have them now
, a voice reminded him.
You could tell her to stuff it.
He had no one to blame for his continued headaches but himself.

The things we do because we need family.

The thought reminded him of Charlotte. Beautiful, windblown Charlotte and her foolish farm. There was a far bigger headache. Whatever her strategy for getting under his skin, it was working. Not only was she under his skin, she was in his system and on his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about her or obsessing over what she would feel like wrapped in his arms.

He came close to finding out last night on the beach, until Cole’s arrival brought him back to his senses. Was his obsession really worth losing seven figures’ worth of land? If he was smart, he’d release her from this whole scheme. Sell her back the land and send her packing back to Boston so he wouldn’t be tempted. But sending her home would require some kind of explanation, and he wasn’t in the mood to put up with his mother’s mocking gibes.

Or so he told himself.

Besides, Charlotte would be in his orbit for what, twenty-four more hours? He could handle himself.

Arching his back, he tried to stretch away the morning stiffness along with his thoughts. Useless. Thinking of Charlotte merely made him stiff in a far more primal way. Hell, he was hard as a rock. Just like last night’s swim. Instead of cooling his blood, her presence dogged him. It grew so bad that at one point he actually thought he could feel her eyes on him. Then again, he could feel her presence in bed with him this morning too, and she was two doors down.

Two very short doors. All he had to do was head down the hall and knock on her door.

He headed to the shower instead.

What bothered him the most, he realized, as he let hot water drench his head, wasn’t breaking their deal. Even at seven figures, the money he stood to lose was a drop in the bucket. Sure, he’d be annoyed at the loss, but what really unnerved him—what kept him from saying
screw it
and just taking what he wanted—was the off-kilter sensation that engulfed him when she was nearby. He wasn’t himself. He slipped, shared things he’d never shared with anyone else. For crying out loud, he’d wanted to comfort her. Since when did he want to share a close moment with anyone? That’s why he needed to be careful.

He should be grateful for his mother’s request last night. Her behavior reminded him that when push came to shove, all women wanted something. For all her empathy and sexual allure, Charlotte Doherty was no different. He needed to remember that, and keep his distance.
Starting today.

…

Charlotte turned off the water and leaned her head against the cool, wet tile. The shower did little to chase away her tension. The image of Daniel standing in the surf plagued her all night. After he dove into the surf, she’d turned away from the window, ashamed of her voyeurism. Unfortunately, then she started worrying about him swimming in the storm-churned ocean alone and turned her attention back. She ended up dozing off and when she awoke, Daniel’s clothes were gone, leaving the beach empty and her neck and shoulders sore from sleeping at such an awkward angle.

She still couldn’t believe what she’d witnessed. Daniel had looked beautiful in the moonlight. When she closed her eyes, the image of his finely sculpted back came floating back and she had to clutch a fist to her stomach to keep the ache from traveling lower.

Face it, Charlotte. You’re attracted to him.
It was no mystery how he managed to entice so many of the world’s beauties into his bed.

But did she really want to be a notch on his bedpost?

What bothered her more, she thought as she dried off, was that her attraction went beyond his rock-hard body. It was the loneliness and pain hovering on the edge of his eyes that really did her in. The connection that appeared to rise up whenever they came together.

Of course, that connection, as Judy pointed out, could very well be all in her mind. Was she really that much of a romantic?

Pulling a blue and white sweater over her head, she surveyed her appearance. Quite nautical, she decided. Cole would be all over it. Ten to one the younger Ferncliff issued an invitation to sail today. She smoothed the prickling sensation on the back of her neck. Daniel’s brother made her uncomfortable. It must run in the family.

She’d have to make a point of avoiding him today. Too bad avoiding Daniel would be easier—because he would no doubt be avoiding her.

The dropping sensation in her stomach was hunger, not disappointment.

Giving her ponytail one final pat, she pronounced herself good for breakfast and stepped outside her room only to run into the man dominating her thoughts.

Awkward silence filled the space. Seeing him dressed didn’t erase last night’s image, especially since his clothes, a frayed dress shirt and faded jeans, called attention to the broad shoulders and narrow waist she knew lurked beneath. A flush started working its way over her skin.

She managed to squeak out a greeting. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Professor.” The shutters were clamped down tight this morning. He spoke with clipped detachment. “Sleep well?”

“Like a baby.”
Except for when I was dwelling on you.
“You?”

“Quite well.”

“That’s good.”

So much for small talk.
The silence returned, her cue to go about her day. The only problem was, her feet didn’t want to move. Her tongue did, however. “You took off so abruptly last evening, I never got a chance to say good night.”

“I had a important phone call to make. Kept me tied up most of the evening.”

She allowed him the lie. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Perils of running an international business.”

“That’s one advantage of studying history. Most of the people I interact with died a couple centuries ago so if I skip out on them, they won’t notice.”

“Pity that’s not possible with the living.”

Was he referring to business or his family? She wondered if she should tell him about her run-in with Vivian, and decided against it.

“I thought I’d do some sightseeing this morning,” she said instead. “Before the rain moves in.”

“A smart idea. Things will be crazy around for a few hours. I plan to do the same myself.”

“Logging more beach time?”

He gave her a long look. “Maybe. After I do some work.”

“Would you like to join me?” The words were out before she could stop them. She blamed the image of him alone with his laptop. Certainly not the image of him swimming in the moonlight, or the memory of his fingers brushing her lips.

Seeing the way his dark eyes flashed, however, she wondered what image came to his mind. “Our agreement doesn’t extend to this afternoon, Professor.”

“I know. But sightseeing is always more fun with a friend.”

“Are we friends, Professor?”

Charlotte suddenly felt exposed. There was a tone to his question that made it sound far more probing and layered than necessary. The way his eyes lowered to her mouth didn’t help.

She licked her lips. “What term would you like to use?”

Daniel didn’t answer. To be fair, he didn’t get the chance, because as soon as she asked, a crashing sound could be heard coming from downstairs, followed by a dramatic wail.

“Be careful, that’s imported tile!”

They made their way to the landing only to find themselves plunked in the middle of a three-ring circus with Vivian, the capris-wearing ringmaster. She stood over a pair of workmen retrieving a series of metal poles that were scattered about the floor. “I better not find scratch marks when you’re finished. No, no, no, don’t put those there,” she snapped at a young man walking by with a pair of trumpet-size vases. “Those are for the veranda entrance. Not that anyone will get the chance to use the veranda.”

A slight man with a beige linen suit stood at her elbow. As the man carrying the vases passed, she sighed dramatically. “Oh Paul, the rain has to hold off. Otherwise, this party will be an utter disaster.”

“Nonsense, Vivian darling. Everything is going to be perfect. Rain or shine, I promise yours will be the party of the year. You’ll outshine even the Vandergartens’ ball.”

His answer apparently appeased her. “People are still talking about that party.”

“They’ll talk about this one too.” He gave her a reassuring pat on the arm, then hurried after a teenager wheeling a dolly with a potted plant. “Put the rose topiaries at the rear of the ballroom, near the staging area.”

From her place at the center, Vivian spied them on standing on the stairwell. She offered a too-bright smile and bustled toward them. “Daniel! Just the man I wanted to see.”

Daniel sighed. “This can’t be good.” After last night, Charlotte had to agree.

“
High Life
will be arriving late this afternoon, around six o’clock.”

“
High Life
, as in the society magazine?” Charlotte whispered. She was familiar with the thick glossy periodical from the newsstands. It covered the leisure lives of the rich and famous.

“One and the same.”

“The magazine is doing a story on our anniversary and the party,” Vivian told him. “About how William and I raised a family, and our lives together.”

“Good for you,” Daniel said. “I’ll make sure my assistant buys a copy.”

“You’ll do more than that,” she said. “I need you dressed and ready for photographs when they arrive. None of your tardiness.”

“Why do you need me? It’s about you and William.”

“And our family. They want photos of our successful sons.”

“Your successful sons.” Charlotte caught the way his mouth drew into a tight line. “Meaning you told the reporter I would be here.”

“Well, you are my son,” Vivian said.

“Is that how your publicist sold the story?”

Vivian made a point of straightening her V-neck sweater. Her silence spoke volumes.

“I thought so. Unfortunately, Mother, I’m not sure I can accommodate your schedule. See, I told Charlotte I’d give her a tour of the island, and I don’t know when we’ll be back.”