He had thought so. He’d lived his adult life believing so. Whether a sexual relationship lasted for a few months or a few hours, he’d got from it what he’d wanted and no more than he’d invested.
His customary nonchalance didn’t apply here. Not to Amelia Nolan. No, this was something else. This wasn’t a crotch throb that would be easily pacified. This was different. A first and only. This was hell.
He hoped Jeremy Wesson was frying in one of his own.
Chapter 7
Mom!”
“Mom! You gotta come see!”
Amelia was in her office composing an e-mail to George Metcalf when the boys rushed in, tracking in sand and practically stumbling over each other in their haste. Their faces were sweaty and flushed.
“What in the world?” It had been less than ten minutes since she’d heard them leaving the house on their way to the beach. “Did a spaceship land on the shore?”
“No, it’s better. You gotta come see.” Hunter took her hand and tried to pull her from the desk chair.
“Hold on. Where’s Stef?”
“She’s down there. Come on.”
“Okay, I’ll come down, I promise. Just let me finish this—”
“No! You gotta come now.” Grant was bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Come see.”
“If it’s that stupendous, I guess my e-mail can wait.”
Laughing, she let each one take a hand and drag her from the room, down the stairs, and out through the front door. Her laughter subsided when she looked beyond the dunes. Stef, looking sleek and bronze and young, was chatting with “hot, hot, hot” Dawson Scott. He had on swim trunks. A ball cap worn backward was keeping his hair out of his face. Something he said caused Stef to tip her head back and laugh.
“Hurry, Mom!”
Hunter tugged harder on her hand and together the three of them went down the steps. When they reached the boardwalk, the two boys left her and bolted ahead. She was too miffed to remember to warn them against splinters.
As she crested the dunes, she saw what all the excitement was about. A dragon had been sculpted into the sand. It had fangs and scales and claws, and a body that arched in and out of the sand for twelve feet. She didn’t need to guess who the sculptor had been. Her sons were dancing around him like aboriginals worshiping a totem pole.
He’d placed her in an untenable situation. She couldn’t spoil the boys’ excitement, and, damn him, he knew it. Pasting on a smile, she approached the dragon. “My goodness!” She pressed her hands together and placed them under her chin, as though completely captivated. It worked to fool the boys.
Both were grinning up at her, their rapture apparent. “Isn’t it awesome, Mom?”
“It certainly is! I hardly know what to say.” This last, she addressed to Dawson, whose eyes were concealed by a pair of aviator sunglasses. She sensed him watching her closely and gauging her reaction from behind the dark lenses.
“Dawson made it!” Grant said.
“Did he?”
“Yeah, and he said he could make other stuff, too. We’re gonna build a battleship.”
“And a castle for the dragon,” Grant added.
It was all she could do to keep from grinding her teeth. “Wow.”
Stef, who’d been carefully observing Amelia as the scene unfolded, clapped her hands. “Before all these projects get under way, we’d better put on more sunscreen.”
The boys chorused protests, but she placed a hand on each of their shoulders and turned them toward the house. “March. The sooner we do it, the sooner you can come back.”
Hunter dug in his heels. “Dawson, will you still be here?”
He hesitated and looked at Amelia, but when she remained stonily silent, he smiled at the boys. “I’ll be around.”