Page 69 of These Summer Storms

She shook her head. “Not even a little.”

Oh…this was dangerous.

She wasn’t supposed to like him. Maybe she could keep herself from that. But she categorically would not be able to keep herself from wanting him. How could she? The man was a walking (and sailing, and swimming, andvery excellently kissing) bad decision.

Which was a problem for Future Alice.

She’d tackle that in a minute. Just as soon as Present Alice was finished.

And then she was, because he was pulling away from her, breaking the kiss, leaving them both breathing heavily, like kids caught making out in the back of a movie theater.

Alice reached for him as he stepped away, in a move that was instantly mortifying, like she couldn’t bear to lose him.

It was a problem he didn’t seem to have. He was back to being sternand controlled, like the man who’d walked into her childhood living room and sent her family into chaos.

If he hadn’t cleared his throat, she might have thought she’d imagined the whole thing—a fever dream of sexual frustration with this man who was too handsome for his own good.

Definitely too handsome for hers.

Yikes.She yanked her shirt down as he ran that big hand—the one that had been heavy and warm and perfect on her—through his hair. “I should—go back to the boat.”

She scrambled off the ledge, feeling clumsy and bare, and not a little bit stupid for all the ways she’d gotten lost in this day—on the boat, on the beach, in that kiss—as though real life weren’t looming like the cliffside above them.

“Right,” she said, trying for effortless cool, reaching for her sunglasses on top of her head, grateful for the reflective lenses that would hide her thoughts from him.

Except her sunglasses weren’t on top of her head. Of course they weren’t. Because they’d been on her face when she’d dived from the boat into the water. And now they were at the bottom of Narragansett Bay.

So now she was just standing there like a buffoon, his attention on her hand patting the top of her head.

Horrifying.

Without taking his eyes from her hand, he cleared his throat again. “I shouldn’t have—”

Oh no.He was going to apologize. And there was surely nothing worse than that. “Don’t,” she whispered.Don’t ruin it.

“No?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He didn’t look so sure, probably because she was already skulking away, pointing in the direction of the steps. “I’m going to—yeah. Anyway. Thanks for the—” She cut herself off. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He looked to the steps, his brow furrowing as he considered the slate steps, green with sea algae. “Be careful.”

The directive was firm enough that it should have annoyed her. Shewasn’t a child, after all, and even if she were, she’d climbed those stairs a thousand times. But instead, a warmth spread through her, something close to the same pleasure she’d taken in his outrage over her unscheduled swim. “You too.”

He nodded, but didn’t reply, and she turned, heading for the steps, telling herself not to look back. And she didn’t. Even though, as she climbed the steps to the house above, it was Alice who felt like the one at sea.

Chapter

11

“You’re painting.”

Alice turned from the view of the Bay through the tower windows to face Emily in the doorway. “Hi,” she said, softly, beckoning to her younger sister. “Do you want to come in?”

“It’s only six-thirty.” Emily stepped into the room, pausing just inside the threshold. “I thought you were still asleep.”

A shake of the head. “I’m a teacher; we don’t sleep in.”

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