Room...but Not Bored!

Jake reached past her to pick a pillow off the floor, which he tossed onto the rumpled bed. “Sheets are pretty fresh—washed yesterday—but I’ll change them if you want.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” she said.

“It’s a great mattress. Try it out.” He motioned at it.

She flashed on the activities that would call for him to put the mattress through its paces and tensed. “I’ll take your word for it.” No way was she lying on a bed looking up at a mostly naked Jake.

He bent beside her and grabbed a T-shirt and some shorts, his thigh muscles flexing, his trunks tight over his butt. Wow. Jake might act lazy, but there was nothing lazy about his body. Not an ounce of fat hid the muscles of his legs, arms and back, and his abdomen was corrugated, thanks, no doubt, to the weight bench. The fleeting image of Jake pumping iron turned Ariel’s insides to jelly.

Jake stood. She dragged her eyes away, but too late. He caught her staring and grinned. “I’ll clear out my gear later so you can catch some zs. Take your clothes off, though. You’ll sleep better.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

He seemed to be disrobing her all on his own, so she crossed her arms over her chest.

He smiled. You got me, his eyes cheerfully conceded.

That friendly X-ray stare made up for Jake’s earlier dismissal. Superficial of her maybe, but as a woman she felt better.

“How about I make you a protein and banana smoothie?” he said. “You need potassium. Flying zaps your salts.”

“Thanks, anyway. I’m really fine. Sleep will help.”

“When you get up then.” Jake left the room, taking up the entire doorway as he went. She realized he’d shrugged off the eviction like she hadn’t said a thing. She’d rectify that later—be polite, but firm. Exhaustion and the undercurrent of attraction had weakened her usual resolve. She’d take a power nap and bounce back.

Making sure the bedroom door was locked, she took off her jacket, blouse and skirt—the monkey suit Jake had called it—and slipped her bra off under her slip, which she’d sleep in.

Removing her shoes, she carefully peeled down her silk stockings, pleased the sand hadn’t damaged them. She folded them and placed them on the bureau. Then she collapsed onto the bed and shut her eyes. It felt so good to lie down. Everything would seem better after a nap.

Jake’s coconut smell rose to her nose from the pillow—pleasant, if too intimate. It was thoughtful of Jake to suggest sleep.

She was just drifting off when she heard a series of bangs, clunks and rattles from the kitchen, which was so close in the tiny house it might as well have been in her room. Then came the horrific roar of a blender. Jake making a smoothie, no doubt.

After that, someone pounded on the front door. She heard a kid’s eager voice, a dog’s bark and the scrabble of nails on the wooden floor. God. Her new home was close quarters for two people, especially when one of them was as noisy, popular and, she was forced to admit, attractive as Jake Renner. So much for peace. So much for sleep.

Jake better find a place to stay right away, or she’d find him one herself.

2

JAKE GAVE RICKIE a couple of boards and some paint and promised to help him with the tree house tomorrow. Rickie had haunted the beach house from the moment Jake arrived three weeks ago. He was lonely and his parents were divorcing, so Jake had played catch with him a couple times, then introduced himself to Rickie’s mother, so she’d know he was okay. Then he’d met the sitter—a definite dating prospect, which enhanced things considerably.

He couldn’t break away now, though. He had the bike to fix for Barry and he wanted to be around when his new roommate got up. He turned his CD player down a little, in deference to the sleeping woman, though he thought he’d heard her moving around.

Jumpy. The way she’d barreled into him at the door showed she was wired for action. If she hadn’t been so tired, she’d have had him packed and out on his ass right now. Despite her jet-lagged befuddlement, her knotted hair, business suit and erect posture spoke volumes about her personality. Gung-ho, no nonsense, maximally serious.

He wasn’t moving out, he already knew that. He’d given up his closet of a basement apartment and he liked having room for all his equipment in one place and living where he was working. Besides, he couldn’t afford rent if he wanted the scratch he needed to fund his sister Penny’s trip.

He’d have to get Ariel comfortable living with him—make her life as smooth as the gearing on Barry’s Guerciotti, which he was working on right now—so she’d forget all about him leaving.

He adjusted the triple-gear unit, then spun the pedals. Much better. He liked getting his hands on equipment. That was one thing he’d learned from his father, Admiral Shipshape—how to handle machinery. It made up a little for the commands and the regulations and the misery when he was growing up.

His father better not be as hard on Penny as he’d been on him. Penny claimed not, but she was too sweet to fight back.

That made Jake remember that she was planning to check out the beach house this weekend. Not a good idea with his landlord on-site. Having a teen guest—even one as smart and sweet as Pen—would definitely annoy Ariel Adams. He put down the bike and grabbed the phone to postpone the visit a couple weeks.

“Renner residence, Jake here.” His father. Damn. He hated talking to the man, hated that air of disappointment—thick as the slabs of beef his dad loved to grill in the back yard—that permeated every conversation.

“Hello, sir.”

“Jake Junior, how are you?”

“Fine, sir. Penny there?”

“Yes, she is.” Pause. Stern silence. “You haven’t been to the house in two months.”

“I’ve been busy. Charters and a house-painting job…” He let his words trail off.

“You owe it to your mother to present yourself from time to time.”

For inspection. Shoes shined, tie straight. His dad was Navy to his bones. “I’ll come out in a week or two.”

“Saturday, the fifteenth? I’ll let her know.”

“That depends….” But the last thing he needed was another argument with his dad. “All right. The fifteenth.”

The admiral was silent on the other end. He had something else on his mind or he would have gone for Penny. These conversations were as awkward for him as they were for Jake. “Made any progress, son?” he finally said. That was Admiral Renner code for settling down—having a real job, a wife, becoming a man with responsibilities, debts, burdens.

“Every day is progress, sir,” he said with a sigh. He’d be damned if he’d do anything in life the way his dad had done it.

Silence. Then his father said tightly, “I’ll get your sister.”

Why did Jake’s heart thud after these exchanges? He was almost thirty years old. It was the shame in his father’s voice. His only son was a footloose bum he couldn’t brag about with the other officers, whose kids were in the Academy or the diplomatic corps or were lawyers or computer whizzes. He felt the shame heat his face. Ridiculous. What did he care what his narrow-minded father thought? Unlike his father, Jake enjoyed life. Enjoyment was not a duty, so Admiral Renner didn’t make room for it.

And as far as being footloose, that was something he’d learned as a kid, thanks to his father’s transfers from naval base to naval base—Virginia to Florida to California. Jake had learned how to let go when he needed to. Now, when things got weird or dull or troublesome, it was easy to just leave.

As a kid, it had hurt, being forced away from things he loved—the swim team, girlfriends, great buds, even teachers who’d inspired him. But he got used to it and it taught him to be flexible, open to new things that were just as worthwhile.

Moving around had been tough, but that was only the launching pad for his struggles with his by-the-book father. Jake had never met a rule he liked, and he made sure his father knew it.

“Hey, Jake,” Penny chirped.

“Hey there, Squirrel, how are you?”

“Good. I got second place in the swim meet.”

“Terrific. Did the Admiral stop picking on you about your grades?” It wasn’t until he’d left home that Jake realized that Penny might be paying the price for his rebellion. His parents were overprotective and kept her close to home, under watch.

“He wasn’t picking on me. He was concerned about me, that’s all. Parents do that. It’s a duty.”

“There’s more to school than grades, Pen. Don’t let him browbeat you.”

“Chill, would you? I want good grades, too. For college.”

“There’s plenty of time for college. You have to live life.” As soon as she graduated high school, he was making sure she got to spend a year in Europe. That was what she wanted, though she’d stopped talking about it. He’d seen the flyer on her desk when he was home at Thanksgiving—Study Abroad. See Europe and earn college credit. He’d asked her about it and she’d sounded so jazzed until she read him the costs. Then her enthusiasm faded. Too much money. She didn’t have to say it.

That was when he decided he would make it happen. He’d pay her way, arrange everything, including running interference with the old man. Jake would not let Penny suffer for his sins. As soon as she had her high school diploma, he’d break her out of the brig his parents kept her in.

“So, I can’t wait for this weekend,” Penny said. “You can teach us to surf—I’m bringing Sheila. She wants to sailboard.”

“Um, that’s kind of why I called,” he said, hating to disappoint her. She asked for so little from him—or anyone. “We’ll have to postpone the trip for a couple weeks.”

“Postpone it? Why?”

“The living situation has changed. It turns out the owner sold the cottage and now I’ve got a landlord living here.”

“So, we’ll bring sleeping bags and crash on the floor.”

“Not yet. She’s a little touchy right now.”

“She? Your landlord’s a woman?”

“Yeah.”

“She single?”

“Why does that matter?”

“So turn on the Jake charm already.”

“I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t kick me out on my ass.”

“Does she have eyes? Ears? A libido?”

“Libido? That is not a word you should even understand, let alone use.”

“I’m sixteen, Jake. I’m a woman. With womanly needs.”

“That’s enough of that.” The whole idea creeped him out. “You take it slow. You have your whole life to get involved in…that stuff….” He felt himself flush. Penny needed a solid guy who would look out for her, worship the ground she walked on, and only when she was mature enough to get serious.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she said. “You sure I can’t come?”

“Sorry.”

“I guess Mom and I will rent movies or something.”

“Go out with friends. Don’t let them trap you at home.”

“They don’t lock me in a tower. If you’re so worried about me, talk your landlord into letting me stay. What’s her name?”

“Ariel.”

“That’s pretty. Is she? Pretty, I mean.”

“She’s all right.” Compactly built, with everything in the right place from what he could see through the business suit. For a moment, he thought of sleeping with her. Bad idea if he wanted to live here through the summer and maybe beyond.

Sleeping with a roommate was a mistake he’d learned from Charlotte. She’d agreed they’d keep it light, just enjoy each other, but then she wanted to know where he was every minute, pouted if he wasn’t home for dinner, acted like a wife, for God’s sake. Then he’d hurt her feelings. He’d hated that. Why did women think they could change him? Why did they even want to? He was who he was and that ought to be enough.

“So, why not…see what happens?” Penny said.

“We are not having this conversation, Pen.”

“Okay. I just wish you’d find someone special so you’d stop hassling me.”

“I’m just looking out for you.”

“Then get me invited to the beach house.”

“I will. As soon as I’m sure I’m staying.”

“If she’s a woman, you’ll be staying.”

He wasn’t sure how to take that and did not like his sister even hinting about his love life. “Do something fun this weekend,” he commanded, then hung up, his roommate jumping into his mind. She’d be hot in bed, he’d bet—active, motivated, goal-oriented. Useful traits in the sack. Hmm.

Nope. He needed Ariel as a roommate, not a playmate.

A PUFF OF DAMP AIR blew Ariel awake. Had she left the window of her London flat open to the drizzle? She opened her eyes just as a wet, black blob snorted at her. Focusing one eye, she made out an animal muzzle and realized it was attached to the dog that had burst out of the house when she’d first arrived. Pleased that he’d awakened her, the dog pranced a couple of steps, then shook itself mightily, spraying water and sand everywhere.

The reality of Ariel’s situation came back to her like a belly flop in the pool of her stomach. Gone was the charming London flat she’d shared with Trudy, replaced by a cramped beach house jammed with water sports junk and construction debris. She picked up the sound of rock-and-roll playing in the front of the house and a woman’s teasing laugh, followed by Jake’s voice.

The dog, poised near her face, gave a desperate whine—get up and play. When Ariel didn’t move, he loped to the more interesting side of the house.

She felt gritty all over—her skin, her hair, her eyes. It wasn’t her exhausted imagination, she learned when she found sand on the sheets and pressed into the undersides of her arms.

The fading light told her it was dusk. Woozy and not a bit rested, she looked at her travel alarm, which she’d taken from her bag when Jake’s banging around the cottage woke her for the third time, and saw that she’d only napped for an hour.

She looked at the giant hole in the wall between her room and where Jake would sleep. Judging from the lush sound of that woman’s voice, Jake might have company tonight. She’d like to tell him no—the last thing she wanted to hear were erotic moans and headboard banging—but she wasn’t sure she wanted to bring up sex with him in any regard. She’d only have to put up with his nocturnal guests for one night, maybe two, until Jake moved out.

Ariel brushed off the grit, climbed out of bed and went to the bureau mirror to see if she looked as bad as she felt. Oh, yeah. Her hair had come loose from her bun, her mascara formed exhausted semicircles under her eyes and she had the indents of sand pebbles all along her left cheek.

She felt something soft under her feet and found her silk stockings in a tangled wad. Clusters of holes and long runs decorated the delicate silk. She’d protected them from sand damage only to have that monstrous dog nose them off her bureau and ruin them. She didn’t even have the energy to work up a fit of temper at the dog. At least she had a second pair in her suitcase.

“Jake, don’t,” the woman called in a tone that meant don’t stop. Feminine wiles and coy flirtation. Blech. Ariel didn’t play games. If she wanted to sleep with a man, which she did from time to time, she showed him with a deep kiss, or responded favorably to his caress. Or she just plain suggested it. Why get silly about something so basic and human?

Of course, lately, with Business Advantage consuming her attention, there hadn’t been much time for sex. Which was probably why she kept getting snagged by the sight of Jake’s body. Once her career was in order, she would open herself to a relationship. The timing would be perfect.

Now, she’d unpack, then write up business and personal to-do lists. Lists would put a fence around her whirlwind of worries. She had to make progress before she went to bed for the night or she’d never fall asleep.

She glanced around the jam-packed room. She’d have to pry Jake away from the Playmate of the Day and get him to clear out his junk before she could even unpack. Then she’d pin him down on the time frame on the cottage renovation.

That meant looking decent enough to appear in the living room. Ariel ran a brush through her hair, changed into a linen short set and slipped into the bathroom to repair her makeup. She wasn’t primping exactly. She just didn’t want to look as bedraggled as she felt. At the last minute, she dabbed perfume on her wrists and neck.

Peeking around the hall corner, she saw that Jake and his friend, who wore a bikini that consisted of three bandage-sized triangles held together by dental floss, were dancing swing style to some nouveau jitterbug. The dog jumped up now and then as if to cut in—to dance with Jake, not the woman, who laughed in that lush way that meant business, sexually.

Jake smiled, but there was distance in his expression. Don’t get too close. She wondered fleetingly what it would take to get past Jake Renner’s affable sexuality to what made him tick.

Not that that was any of her concern. The dancing made her smile, though, and set her thoughts wandering. She’d needed an aerobic exercise in college and selected ballroom dance since she’d be learning a skill and getting exercise at the same time. The grace and freedom of it had enchanted her. She’d met Grayson in that class and they’d begun their affair. She missed dancing. How long had it been since she’d moved to music, alone or with a partner? Once the business was stable she would have fun, too, she told herself. All in good time. And according to plan. Planning gave you freedom.

Jake caught sight of Ariel and stopped dancing. “Sleeping Beauty awakes,” he said. “Heather, meet my landlord, Ariel Adams. Ariel, this is Heather.”

“Hi,” Heather said. Her expression was direct—are you after him?

No, thanks, she tried to communicate with her eyes. “Nice to meet you, Heather.”

“You get some rest?” Jake asked her.

“Some.” Except for the blender and the visiting kid and the giggling girl and the music and the snorting dog. But there was no point getting technical. “Sorry to interrupt,” she continued, “but I was hoping you would clear your things out of my room…?”

“I guess I should go,” Heather said to Jake. “See you later tonight?” she asked, establishing ownership, presumably for Ariel’s benefit. “For the volleyball game at Ollie’s?”

“If I’m up for it,” he said, his tone clearly saying Don’t push.

Poor Heather. She probably hadn’t figured out this guy was as elusive as he was handsome.

“We’ll have fun. I promise.”

“You don’t need me to have fun,” he said.

A tiny frown appeared between the woman’s sharply plucked brows, and she looked from Ariel to Jake, assessing the danger of them getting together. In the end, she sighed, picked up a sarong and a beach bag from a drop-cloth–draped chair, said, “Ciao,” and left. Jake watched her go, admiring her casually—like someone appreciating a work of art, knowing there was a museum’s worth beyond it.

The dog watched Heather leave, then honed in on Jake, ready for action. When Jake made no move to follow the girl, the dog plopped onto its substantial belly, spread-legged, scattering sand.

“Is this your dog?” Ariel asked, praying it wasn’t. The last thing she wanted was to be snuffled awake again by a sandy-pawed canine. Even one with eyes as big and brown as a bear’s.

“Lucky? Nah, his owners live down the beach, but he hangs with me a lot. We’re buds, aren’t we, Luck Man?”

The dog looked up at him with pure worship on his doggie mug. Sure are, boss.

“Time to head home, pal,” Jake said, “before your owners start worrying.” He held the door for Lucky, who seemed to droop, like a kid called home for supper, and slowly walked out the door, his back end swaying regretfully.

Ariel couldn’t help smiling at the sight.

Jake caught the look. “Great dog, huh?”

“He sheds a lot of sand.”

“Be glad he didn’t bring in another starfish. Hid one under the bed once. Talk about stink.”

Great.

“So, I bet you’re hungry,” Jake said.

“Starving,” she blurted. Her stomach rumbled in agreement. The last thing she’d had was a sad Salisbury steak on the plane.

“Good. I was just about to fix some huevos whateveros.”

“Huevos what?”

“Eggs with whatever I find in the refrigerator. Topped with salsa—I make my own.”

“I don’t want to put you out,” she said. She should get unpacked first, but eating would give her the boost she’d need to look over Trudy’s contact tracking software and gear up for making calls tomorrow.

“So I throw in a couple extra eggs. Easy.” He started for the kitchen. “We’re roommates, right?” he said over his shoulder.

Not for long, she wanted to say, but she’d give it a rest until they’d eaten. She could hardly expect Jake to drag that weight bench out of her room on an empty stomach.

She headed into the kitchen to help.

3

“WHAT CAN I DO?” Ariel said when she reached the kitchen.

“Just keep me company,” Jake said. He opened the refrigerator and reached inside, demonstrating what a marvel of biological engineering his body was. Smoothly swelling muscles fanned out, tightened and released in delightful synchronicity as he shifted things around. And his skin was a golden brown….

Stop. What was she doing? Her travel-fogged brain kept honing in on Jake’s anatomy. She should be worrying about the “whatever was in the refrigerator.” If Jake was like most guys, it would be leftover Chinese, ketchup and maybe wilted lettuce.

She was relieved when he stood with an armload of fresh items—an avocado, some mushrooms, Muenster cheese and a plastic-wrapped container of what looked like fresh spinach.

“Are you sure I can’t do anything?” she asked. To keep from ogling you?

“Not a thing,” he said. The way he snapped on the gas stove, deftly whacked off a hunk of butter and flipped it onto a serious omelet pan seemed to indicate he knew his way around a kitchen—or at least an egg dish.

The kitchen was small—no, cozy, she corrected, thinking like a real estate agent. The counter space was modest, but charming—tiny blue-and-white tiles with decent grout. The sink, however, was battered and rust-stained and the faucet appeared corroded. She’d have to replace it. Kitchens and bathrooms were big selling features, she knew, and a good place to spend renovation dollars. The stove was an older model, but clean and it seemed to work.

The wallpaper was outdated, but high shelves held decorative plates with ocean themes, attractive driftwood pieces, and several plants—curly bamboo and an orchid—that gave the room character and life.

“I can at least set the table,” she said, going to the cupboard beside him, where she assumed the plates were. She found flower vases, mixing bowls and sports bottles instead.

“Up there,” Jake raised his chin at the cupboard directly above him, his hands busy cutting mushrooms.

“Excuse me,” she said, reaching past him.

“Take your time,” he said, not moving an inch. She felt his eyes on her, sensed his lazy grin, and prickled from the abrupt intimacy of it all. Snatching two plates, even though they didn’t match, she decided to wait until Jake left the counter to get the water glasses from the higher shelf.

The silverware was in the first drawer she opened, thank goodness. Unwilling to hunt for napkins, probably in the drawer at Jake’s groin, she ripped two paper towels from the under-cupboard hanging roll, then moved to the table, which held more Jake accoutrements—a bike repair manual, a set of wrenches and a stack of magazines named for S sports: Sail, Scuba, Surf.

“So, you seem to do a lot of water things,” she said to make conversation while she set the table.

“Why else live at the beach? Being in water feels good.”

Pool water, maybe, which was clear and clean, not mucky like the ocean and full of creepy weeds and mysterious creatures you couldn’t see. Plus, saltwater burned her eyes.

Finished setting the table, she watched Jake efficiently chop a hunk of red onion into tiny squares that he sprinkled into the bubbling butter. Great hands.