Page 4 of On Thin Ice

Sinclair’s head whipped to the side as if I’d told him I’d stolen his entire fortune. “What do you mean?”

We stopped walking then, standing in the middle of the sidewalk under the shade of a huge tree. His eyes scanned mine as if searching for the truth and I decided to just let it all out. “By kissing me. You hurt me.”

“My kiss hurt you?”

“Yes.”

Remorse filled his eyes, really driving home with me that he was a real live human being, full of more emotion and empathy than I ever would have given him credit for. “Please accept my apology. I was…overcome with emotion last night—and I’d probably had a bit too much to drink. That will never happen again.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Lowering my eyes, I took one of his large hands in both of mine, relieved that he was letting me. “What I mean is,” I said, forcing myself to look in his eyes, “you made me a promise with that kiss—and now you’re breaking it.”

“A promise?”

“Yes. You don’t go around kissing everyone you meet like that, do you?”

The struggle in his eyes was undeniable. He was at war with himself, just like the internal turmoil I too was feeling. “Obviously not. But…Annalise, if I may call you that…”

“Please call me Lise.”

“Lise…you know we can’t do anything like that again, and we can’t pursue a relationship. You are far too young, and I’m in a position of authority. How do you think that would look?”

“Who cares what it looks like?” Even as I felt my face burning hot, I kept talking. “I didn’t want that kiss to stop.”

His blue eyes were flooded with shadows, and I imagined stormy seas tossing a ship about like it was a toy. “You’ve got to put it out of your mind right now.”

And he didn’t say another word about it. He turned, indicating that we would be walking back to the house. This time, the silence was different. It was still leaden but this time it was filled with shame. Why had I admitted how I felt about him? I’d given him back the power after holding it for a few brief moments.

Now I looked like a pathetic lovesick dummy…another thing Sinclair Whittier could hold over my head. And part of me wondered if that had been his plan all along.

Chapter 2

For the rest of the weekend, Sinclair and I avoided each other—even at meals. When I finally went down for lunch long after one o’clock on Saturday, I saw evidence that he’d already eaten. The place was big enough that it was easy to not run into each other. It was possible that he’d even left the mansion, but I didn’t know that for certain. All I did know was that I was safest in my room. And it wasn’t until I had to turn in my timesheet Sunday afternoon that I saw him again—and then it was only business.

Monday morning, though, it would be hard for us to ignore each other, especially with Edna there. When I entered the kitchen, the first thing she said was, “Child, thank you so much for cleaning those dishes for me. You don’t know how much that meant.”

Pretending Sinclair wasn’t sitting at the table already, I crossed over to the coffee pot. “Did Mr. W. tell you he helped?” Although I’d consented to letting him call me by my first name and inside I called him by his first, I wasn’t about to cross that line out loud without permission.

“He did?” Edna delivered a butter dish and a jar of honey to the table, but her focus was on Sinclair. “Is that true?”

“Is what true?” he asked gruffly, as if he hadn’t been paying attention to our conversation.

It was the first time I’d looked directly at him this morning. He was wearing a charcoal suit with a white shirt and blue tie—and he looked so damn delicious, I wanted to gobble him up. His admission on Saturday that he felt the same had done nothing to quell my desire. In fact, it had made it worse, and I wasn’t sure what to do about that.

He’d already said no.

“You helped Lise with the dishes?”

His lips quirked up in a sexy smile, subtle but hard to miss. “Is that so hard to believe?”

She frowned, but when she spoke, I could tell that frown was playful. “All these years and you’ve never helped me with the dishes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Technically, I did.”

“Technically. Hmph.” Edna returned to the island just as I was finishing up my coffee. “Sit down and I’ll bring you some breakfast.”

“What are we having?”

“For you, fresh pineapple—and don’t tell Mr. Whittier, but I got you some bagels and cream cheese.”

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