Page 22 of Valentine Nook
For someone who looked so rugged, he’s remarkably well-kempt, with curls of thick chocolate-brown hair brushing along his collar. Even his beard looks tidy and soft enough that my fists clench to stop from finding out for myself, and I bet it’s hiding a dangerous set of cheekbones.
But it’s his eyes that I can’t tear myself away from.
I always thought mine were blue. But his eyes arebluelike the Caribbean seas are blue or a cloudless sky in the dead of summer blue.
As I watch, those blue eyes drop to my feet and travel up slowly, causing my body to heat from more than the early afternoon sun. Then I remember not only am I wearing one of my flimsier bikinis but I’m also dripping wet, so I snatch up the nearest pool towel and wrap it around myself so tightly and aggressively that I almost cut off my air supply.
“Are you following me?”
“Following you?” He has the audacity to scoff. “No. Now answer my question.”
It takes me a second to remember what his question was. I can’t even blame it on jet lag or being slightly intoxicated. To quote Nick Miller, this guy smells like strong coffee and going to see a man about a horse. It’s entirely distracting.
“What are you doing here?” he repeats, and each word he enunciates stiffens my spine a little bit more.
“I’m swimming. What does it look like?”
“I don’t know how it is in America, but you can’t just break into people’s gardens and use their pool. This is private property.”
First off, how dare he? Who does this guy think he is?
Crossing my arms over my chest, I glare at him. “I haven’t broken in.”
“Then how did you get here?”
I have no intention of divulging any information to him, a perfect stranger. An unhinged one at that. It doesn’t matter how good-looking he is, even with the snarl.
Come to think of it,whyis he snarling at me?
Then it dawns on me. This guy doesn’t like me.
Huh.
This isnew.
I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who doesn’t like me. And while I understand not everyone likes everyone, this guy doesn’t like me on sight, the waterfall incident not included. Surely, it’s not that big of a deal that I saw him naked. Not sufficient reason for him to be looking at me the way he’s looking at me, anyway.
Nope. This guy doesn’t like me. He doesn’t even know me.
He hasn’t eventriedto get to know me.
His eyebrows lower so much with his scowl they become a dark slash across his face. But if he thinks I’ll cower, he’s scowling at the wrong girl. While I mightlooksweet, I’m well practiced in holding my own against hard-nosed men who think they can tell me what to do. Thanks, Hollywood.
We’re still locked in this glaring competition when Clemmie arrives back carrying another jug of her lethal margaritas. I expect her to tell him to get lost or call the police, but she doesn’t. It hasn’t occurred to me there are still two dogs happily swimming about in the pool like they own the place.
“Oh goodie, I’m so glad you’ve finally met.”
My eyes snap to hers, and she’s wearing that same grin she wore when she came to my cottage. The borderline-crazy one.
Finallymet?
“Holiday, this is my brother Lando.” She turns, totally obliviousto the way he’s standing rigid and glowering in my direction. Even under his beard, I can tell his jaw is set hard. “Lando, this is Holiday. She’s renting Bluebell Cottage. I invited her over for a swim. Do you want to stay for a drink?”
My brain is firing a half second slower than Clemmie, but as soon as it catches up, my eyes bulge. Ohshit.
Her brother. The naked waterfall guy is my new friend’sbrother.
Lando, the moody one.
