Exposed to You (One Night of Passion 2)

“Everett?” Katie called to him when he shoved back the stool.

“I’ll be back in a little while,” he said before he walked out the front door.

* * *

Joy’s hand moved rapidly over the page. The view from Errol’s dock was beautiful. The trees on the riverbank behind her cast her in shadow, while the sun shone full-out on the opposite shore. She’d never seen so many shades of green and gold. She wished she had her paints, although the heat would have given her poor consistency.

She’d calmed quite a bit since settling down in the rickety lawn chair, surrounded by the sylvan glory of the forest and the fast-flowing, wide river. Having a pencil or a paintbrush in her hand always went a long way to grounding her. She’d been being ridiculous by allowing herself to become upset because Everett had spent all that time talking to Jennifer.

Errol lived in a tiny gray-shingled house nestled amongst the river-bottom trees. The house needed some repairs, but the view made up for its shabbiness. She paused in her sketching, using her forearm to blot the perspiration accumulating on her upper lip before she took a sip of ice water. Errol had dutifully supplied the cold beverage when they arrived before he’d sat down in his kitchen and fixed his entire attention on a black and white rerun of McHale’s Navy.

It was shady where she sat, but the humidity and heat were still quite bad. In the distance, she heard a car door slam, and looked around distractedly. She did a double take when she saw Everett striding down the path.

“Hi,” she said, sounding breathless at the unexpected sight of him. She set down the glass of water on the dock and started to stand.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” he murmured, his gaze on her sketchbook. He looked out at the river. She studied his classic profile from beneath her lashes. He wore a dark green T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts that showed off his muscular, well-shaped calves. His wavy hair looked like it was still damp in the back from his shower. She was still getting used to him clean shaven. She’d thought she was partial to his goatee and sexy whiskers, but of course, with his face, Everett could pull off just about any look.

“They came off okay,” she said, nodding at his arm, referring to the tattoos.

“With a little work.”

An uncomfortable feeling settled on her. Everett seemed strained . . . subdued. Was he angry?

“I hope you don’t mind that I came out to sketch,” she said, setting down her pencil on the dock and closing her sketch pad.

“Of course not,” he said quietly. “I’d mind if you were upset for any reason, though.”

“I’m not upset.”

He peered at her through narrowed eyelids. “I’m not interested romantically in Jennifer Turner.”

She swallowed thickly and studied her bare thighs. “It wouldn’t be any of my business if you were, Everett.”

She looked up when he muttered a restrained, but nevertheless blistering, curse. She was once again staring at his profile.

“I just meant . . .”

“What? What did you just mean?” he demanded when she faded off, his eyes blazing.

“We hardly know each other. I know you have a life that has absolutely nothing to do with me,” she explained, her words coming fast now that she’d gotten started. “I know you have a life that I probably couldn’t even comprehend, for that matter.”

“It’s not that hard to comprehend,” he said, his manner just as pressured. “I’m a guy; you’re a girl; we’re both straight. I like you. I like you a lot. I haven’t been this interested in a woman for . . . for . . . ever. If you don’t feel the same way, fine, but at least give me the courtesy of not repeatedly shoving it in my face how we hardly know each other. It’s like you’re throwing up the Great Wall of China between us every time you say that.”

Her mouth fell open in amazement at his intensity. He rolled his eyes in what appeared to be exasperation.

“Every time you say you hardly know me, it frustrates the hell out of me,” he said.

“But we’ve only been out a few times,” she said, still stunned by what he’d said. I haven’t been this interested in a woman for . . . for . . . ever. “We talked on the phone for hours, true, and we’ve had sex,” she finished under her breath.

“How well you know someone isn’t always measured by a clock or a calendar . . . or the number of times you’ve done it, for that matter.”

“I know that,” she said, anger rising in her.

“So while you might concede that to be true in some cases, you can’t accept it with me. Because you can’t trust what you’re feeling because of all the movie-star shit. You believe I have some kind of standards and values that are completely foreign in comparison to yours. You actually think that I live in some kind of world where I would ask you here for a getaway because I’m crazy to spend time with you, but have no problem whatsoever in going off to flirt with another woman right in front of your face.”

“I never said that.”

“No, but you were thinking it,” he bit out, his words and glance striking her like a fiery whip.