Part 9 (2/2)

She put her hands up. ”I'm really glad you got down-”

”Come over here.”

”Now, look, we just needed to get you-”

”A promise is a promise.”

Nate marched up to her, put his hands on either side of her face and kissed her long and slow. His body was warm against hers, and as he pushed her back against the house, she couldn't remember exactly why it was wrong to be with him.

Something about leaving, the end of the summer-ah, who the h.e.l.l cared, she thought.

Her hands crept up his shoulders and around the back of his neck and she held on to him. He smelled like Ivory soap and outdoors, but she would have taken him dirty and sweaty, too.

”Much better on the ground,” he murmured.

Frankie slowly opened her eyes. ”I'm not sure I'm standing up anymore, to tell you the truth.”

He smiled with satisfaction. ”You want to go upstairs?”

”Yes-no. No, I-” She thought about stepping away but her feet refused to respond.

Probably because her size eight and a halfs knew she wasn't really serious about wanting to put some s.p.a.ce between her body and Nate's.

He kissed her lightly and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. ”I take that back. How about we go a little more slowly. Let's go out tonight after we close. Just the two of us.”

It was weird, but the tempting invitation made reality come back. Maybe because she pictured herself taking him into town and having people watch them together. In a small community, there wasn't much to do except gossip. And the conclusions that would be drawn, namely that she was sleeping with her new chef, wouldn't help her or her business.

But that wasn't the only reason to not go any further with him.

Frankie pulled back and then stepped away.

”Actually, I think we should stop.”

He groaned deep in his throat. ”Why?”

”Because I like you,” she muttered. Before he could ask her to elaborate, she put her hand up. ”Look, you're leaving at the end of the summer and nothing is going to change that. I've got too much self-respect to be some man's little diversion and I'm not interested in using you in that way, either.”

His hazel eyes burned as he stared at her. ”Fine, but it may not be that easy.”

And with that, he turned and headed back for the ladder.

”What's that supposed to mean?” she demanded, going after him.

He just shrugged and put his foot on the bottom rung. ”You're a.s.suming we have a choice.”

She watched him take a deep breath, and with his eyes fixated on the gutter, begin to steadily climb back up the side of the house.

Chapter Seven.

A week later, she still couldn't get that kiss out of her mind.

Although she took a lot of pride in spanking down Nate's fatalistic att.i.tude. No matter how attractive he was, or how good he'd felt, she'd managed to not jump his bones. She felt like a chronic dieter who'd made it through a Lindt store without buckling.Restraint came at a cost, however.

Frankie put her head down on her desk. It was utterly exhausting trying to convince her body that it didn't actually want to be invaded by his.

And her nerves were shot. Whenever she was in the same room with Nate, she wanted to jump out of her skin. She kept expecting him to bring up what had happened or try it again, but he was playing it cool.

And naturally, the s.p.a.ce he gave her meant she thought about him constantly.

The nights were the worst. She made a point to go up to bed before him, reinforcing the hands-off message with her closed door. It was a good, stalwart plan, in theory. The trouble was, when she heard him coming down the hall, she kept wis.h.i.+ng he'd ignore the signal. She wanted him to knock, probably just so that she could turn him down again. Which was crazy and a little cruel, but somehow drawing the boundaries would make her feel more in control.

As it was, she had to listen to the shower going while imagining what he looked like naked and running a bar of her soap over all of those muscles.

Seeing him in the kitchen was an exercise in self-torment, too, even though he was fully clothed. It was next to impossible for her not to get caught up in watching him cook. You wouldn't figure some man facing off ten pounds of root vegetables with a paring knife would be so d.a.m.ned attractive.

But she could watch him peel potatoes for hours.

He had beautiful hands. Long, strong fingers and wide palms. His forearms were thick and marked with veins and she loved to watch the tendons and muscles s.h.i.+ft as he worked.

G.o.d, she was pathetic.

But that was what self-imposed s.e.xual frustration could do to a girl.

In an effort to release some stress, she'd made twenty jars of jam this afternoon. Nate had thought she'd lost her mind when she'd pushed him away from the stove, pulled a stew vat over a flame and proceeded to pitch in about a thousand strawberries and enough sugar to put the city of Albany into a diabetic coma.

The excess was absurd, but she'd give the stuff away to guests as they left. And at least she'd managed to keep her hands off him for another day.

Of course, she'd also wiped out the strawberry census in Saranac for the time being. But there were always blueberries. And raspberries. And rhubarb.

h.e.l.l, she could probably make jam out of gra.s.s if she ran out of options.

The phone rang and she jumped. She cleared her throat before picking up, just in case her fantasy life had made her hoa.r.s.e.

”Yes, we have rooms available,” she said, cradling the receiver between her ear and shoulder. She changed screens on the computer. ”This weekend I can offer you a lake-facing suite for two nights. No, I'm sorry, the Lincoln Bedroom is booked. Of course, we love children.”

After she took the man's credit card information, she referred him to their Web site for directions. ”And may I ask where you heard of us?”

She was still surprised when she hung up the phone. Mr. Little had evidently been impressed enough by the food to give a recommendation to a friend of his. Which meant for the first time this season, they were full for the coming weekend.

Joy stuck her head in the door. ”Plumber's back again. He's got the replacement part and he's going to need to work in here.”

Thank G.o.d. The day after the deluge, he'd managed to patch the slow drip that had caused water to acc.u.mulate in the ceiling, but it had been a short-term solution. With any luck, a new valve would take care of the problem and she could get a sheet rocker in to seal up the rafters.

As the guy came in with his toolbox, Frankie figured she'd spend some time in the garden, weeding. She changed into ratty shorts and was heading out to the raggedy patch when a Cadillac pulled up. Mike Roy got out and so did a tall, dark-haired man. Both were dressed casually, although the stranger seemed somewhat regal in his linen pants and polo s.h.i.+rt.

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