Her favorite place was the garden room and she’d made it her own, spreading out her paints and covering the floor with her work.
Sometimes when he went in search of her he found her absorbed in a drawing, other times he found her staring out to sea from the window seat.
Creative window gazing, she’d called it, delivering that trademark smile that he was fast discovering had the melting power of summer sunshine.
He rocked back on his heels and turned as he heard her walk into the room.
“Pinot noir or sauvignon blanc?” She held two bottles of wine in front of him. She was wearing jeans tucked into slipper boots and her hair streamed over her scarlet sweater.
Red for danger, he thought. “You bought wine?”
“Of course. The idea was to exhaust you physically, not financially. And anyway, with a storm warning in place it’s important to stock up on essential items. I assumed by that they meant wine and condoms.” Her wickedly sexy smile sent his libido soaring into the stratosphere.
“You bought condoms?”
“A truckload.”
“In Harbor Stores?”
“Yes. I went there that day you picked me up from Emily’s. It was hilarious. I picked up a few extra packets just because I wanted to see Mel’s face. I wish you’d been there.” She started to laugh, unable to hold it back. “I slapped the condoms down on the counter and Mel’s eyes went the size of saucers. She asked me if I really intended to buy that many, so I thanked her and said that I should probably buy more, just in case.” She was laughing so hard it made him want to laugh, too.
“You did that?”
“Yes. I added another three packets and pointed out that they were predicting a major storm with power outages.”
“You’re shameless.” Alec shook his head. “I’m never going to be able to shop in Harbor Stores again.”
“Hey, I’m helping your reputation, Shipwreck Hunter. Thanks to me, you are now the island stud. You’re welcome.” She put the wine down on the table next to the bookshelf, still laughing.
Her smile was fast becoming one of his favorite things about her, along with the way she listened and her straightforward responses to everything.
She was the least complicated woman he’d ever met.
But that changed nothing as far as he was concerned.
It just made it easier, because she didn’t want anything more from this than he did.
As far as he was concerned it was as close to a perfect relationship as it was possible to get. The sex was incredible, they were friends and they enjoyed each other’s company, but it went no deeper than that.
She placed no demands on him, and that trapped feeling he’d had on the first day on Puffin Island had never resurfaced.
“The islanders will be talking about us. That doesn’t bother you?”
“Why would it bother me what they think?”
“You care about what your parents think.”
“That’s different. They’re my parents. We’re unattached, consenting adults finding a legitimate way of passing the time in a Maine winter storm.” She pointed to the bottles. “Pick one.”
He could barely focus on the labels.
All he wanted to do was bury his hands in her hair and take her straight back to bed. “The pinot.”
“Good choice. It will go with the soup I’m making.”
“I thought you didn’t like cooking.”
“I can make soup. My specialties are lentil and smoked bacon, leek and potato, and, of course, chicken. I also make an excellent minestrone, courtesy of a lesson I had from an Italian when I was eighteen.” Picking up the wine, she walked back to the kitchen and he followed.