She shrugged, unconcerned. “Oh, c’mon, Sarge, you’re not that old. Bet you haven’t even seen forty yet.”
“I’ve caught a few glimpses of it lately,” he muttered. “Seems to creep closer every time I look away.”
“You know what they say. Age is just a number. And math was my worst subject in school.”
She was being brazen, and was well aware of it. But she’d never been one to play at being coy. She knew when a man found her attractive, and she wasn’t imagining the sparks between her and Walt.
“So you know this is fake, right?” He held up his convincingly designed left hand.
She flicked a glance at the hand, then smiled back at him. “I know it’s a prosthetic, if that’s what you mean. Did you leave the hand in Afghanistan?”
“Iraq.” He seemed to appreciate her matter-of-fact tone. “I was over there a few years before Adam.”
She reached out to touch his right hand, which was still holding his beer bottle. “Maybe you’ll tell me about it sometime.”
He gave her a narrow look, and she saw suspicion in his eyes. “Is flirting with the opposition a tactic you use often, Counselor?”
She felt her cheeks warm, not with embarrassment but with a quick flash of temper. She reined it in, giving him a cool smile. “You should be relieved that I don’t take offense easily. Otherwise, you’d be wearing the rest of my daiquiri back to your office.”
“Sorry if I crossed the line,” he grumbled.
Her eyebrows rose. “Do you consider that an apology? If so, you have quite a bit to learn yet.”
She stood and trailed a fingertip up his right arm to lightly tap his frowning lips. “As it happens, I’m intrigued by the idea of teaching you. You can start by paying for my drink. See you around, Sarge.”
Maddie felt him watch her as she strutted away. She didn’t look back to make sure, but she didn’t have to.
She’d definitely left him with something to think about.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AS ADAM HAD PREDICTED, it felt good to be productive after the contentious meeting. To work hard, to know the actions he took and the decisions he made were valuable to the resort and to his employer. His friend. There was satisfaction in feeling tired at the end of the day, aware that a cold beer and a good book waited for him.
True, there’d be no one with whom to share the pleasures, no one to congratulate him for the challenges he’d successfully handled that afternoon, no one to laugh with him over one particularly amusing exchange with a congenial but absent-minded guest. But he was okay with that, right? He knew how to find temporary companionship if he wanted it. He just wasn’t in the mood for meaningless interaction this evening.
In addition to the hard work, he’d expended quite a bit of energy not thinking about that meeting with Joanna and the lawyers. Not letting himself dwell on memories of mind-blowing kisses or a child’s innocent laughter. The images still haunted him, of course, hovering at the back of his mind like irritating ghosts just waiting for him to let his guard down.
He suspected he’d be spending quite a bit of time battling those ghosts in the near future, after Joanna and Simon returned to their own happy life, but he would worry about that later. Tonight, he’d drink a beer, read his book and otherwise concentrate only on work, the tasks he’d completed and the ones waiting for him to tackle. It was the life he’d led for
the past three years, and he’d been in no hurry to make any drastic changes, despite knowing he could at any time. He’d told himself his freedom was more valuable than any rewards or commitments—one of the few lessons his own dad had drilled into him.
He’d begged off on dinner with Trevor and some guests that evening, and Trev hadn’t protested. He hadn’t heard from Joanna since he’d walked out of the meeting, and he doubted he would hear from her this evening. He’d have to deal with it all again tomorrow, of course, but tonight he planned to just hole up and rest.
Which meant he was unprepared to turn a corner and see Joanna sitting on a bench in a shady alcove, her arm around a sobbing woman, her head bent to hear the words the other woman choked out. At first he thought her companion was her sister, but then he noted the woman’s blond hair. She lifted her tear-streaked face toward Joanna, and he recognized the profile. Leah McGee, wife to Ken and mother to Cody, the family with whom he and Trevor had dined earlier this week.
In his brief interactions with the McGees, he’d sensed some tension between Cody’s parents. He’d gone out of his way to be friendly and make suggestions of fun things for them to do as a family. Joanna, apparently, had offered an ear and a shoulder, and Leah was taking full advantage. And responding. Even as he hesitated on the path, Adam saw that Leah’s tears were slowing, that she listened intently to the no doubt encouraging and supportive words Joanna murmured to her.
Neither woman noticed him standing there. Feeling like a voyeur, he turned and continued quietly on his path.
Joanna seemed to have all the answers for everyone. He didn’t know why that suddenly irritated him. Maybe because he had so few answers about what the hell he was supposed to do next. Or maybe because it was uncomfortably easy to imagine sitting there pouring out his problems to her—even though he’d learned a long time ago that in the long run, the only one he could truly depend on to look out for his best interests was himself.
* * *
STANDING WITH HER fist hovering over Adam’s door, Joanna repeatedly counted to ten, taking plenty of opportunity to talk herself out of this. She’d reached seven for a fourth time when she muttered a curse and knocked. She didn’t even know for certain that he was here, but a light shone in the window and she thought she heard the muted sound of a TV inside. That sound shut off abruptly in response to her knock.
Dressed in shorts and a worn T-shirt, barefoot and evening-unshaven, Adam opened the door. “Joanna? What are you doing here? Where’s Simon?”
How could he look this drop-dead sexy, even grubby and grumpy? What was it about this man that made her mind go blank—except for a few mature-rated images—every time she saw him?