Embarrassed about last night on the beach?
No. Pissed about something. He expected it had to do with her brothers and what they tended to believe about him, what she should believe, maybe even wanted to believe. Falling for him had to give her pause. If she could just dismiss him, maybe next time the opportunity arose, she would resist tumbling around in the bay with him.
Clate understood how she must feel. He'd stared at his dark ceiling for much of the night, warning himself not to get involved with a woman whose life and ambitions were as different from his as Piper Macintosh's were.
She must have realized he'd ride alongside her all the way to town if he had to, because she stopped, rolled off her seat, and shot him a fierce look. Definitely pissed. Nothing embarrassed about her. She had on an oversized polo shirt that was probably about ten years old and those strategically cushioned bike shorts that always looked hot and uncomfortable to him.
His passenger window whined down. He peered over at her, resisted a grin. "You look like the Wicked Witch of the West on that bicycle."
"That was Miss Gulch."
He shrugged. "Same difference."
She straddled her bike, and he could see the sweat trickling down her temples, the humidity tough even on the water. She flipped her braid up and let it fall, as if to give her neck some air. Her breasts looked smooshed together under an exercise bra. Even so, a quick arrow of awareness found its mark.
"You want to develop Hannah's land," she told him.
He made sure he displayed no visible reaction. Whatever he did she would misinterpret. She was in that kind of mood. "What makes you think that?"
"I have my sources." She gave an airy toss of her head, which, between the helmet, the braid, and the sweat, she didn't quite pull off. She looked more troubled and irritated than disdainful. "All this stuff about privacy and just wanting to be left alone is just garbage, isn't it? It's a tactic to keep people from poking around in your business. You don't want to get to know anyone in Frye's Cove before you betray them."
She kept her tone cold and distant, but he could see that she was close to crying. She'd told him everything last night. She'd kissed him. She'd nearly made love to him in the sand. Now she was worried her brothers were right and she really was a fool when it came to men, that there wasn't one of them to be trusted.
Of course, her brothers were right.
"Your brothers," Clate said. "They heard a rumor."
"Does it matter who heard what?"
"Piper—"
Her eyes leveled on him. "Obviously I can't trust you."
"I never said you could."
She jumped back onto her bicycle, found the pedals, and launched herself back down the road.
He followed. She ignored him. He cursed under his breath, but loud enough for her to hear through the open passenger window. She ignored that, too.
Finally, he screeched ahead of her, stopped his car, and climbed out. He walked around to the trunk and leaned against it, one heel up on the bumper. She pedaled pell-mell toward him. She had several choices, none of them good. She could turn around and head home, in which case he would follow her back and they could continue their argument in her front yard. She could go around his car and continue on her way, in which case he would follow her all the way to town and they could continue their argument in front of the Macintosh Inn or somewhere equally public.
Or she could run him right up onto the roof of his car, in which case he could have her butt arrested.
She was still cooking along at top speed three yards in front of him. Daring her, he crossed his arms on his chest and didn't move.
For two cents she'd have rammed a nice tire mark up one of his legs. He could see it in her eyes.
But she stopped six inches from his toes.
"See?" He grinned at her. "I trust you."
"That had nothing to do with trust. That was pure arrogance. You made up your mind I wouldn't run you over, and you weren't going to give me the satisfaction of second-guessing yourself."
"Actually, I figured you would run me over, but if I moved, you'd plow into the back end of my car and hurt yourself."
She glared at him in disbelief. "So you were protecting me from myself?"
"We should all be lucky enough to have someone to protect us from our own worst instincts."
That only incensed her more. She leaped off her bicycle and probably would have thrown it at him if she didn't half believe he'd catch it with one hand and hurl it back. They were having that kind of fight, he thought. It was hellishly exhilarating.
"Damn it, I should have run you over!"
"No doubt."
"You arrogant S.O.B. You lying, conniving—"
"Don't forget untrustworthy."
"I haven't forgotten anything."
He dropped his foot to the road and moved toward her, and he skimmed a finger along her throat. "Nothing, eh?"
She licked her lips. "You're trying to distract me from my anger."
He grinned. "Damned right."
"If you were in my position, you'd be angry, too."