“Ooh, that’s nice,” Heather called out from the kitchen.
He smiled again. Dropping onto the sofa, he looked at the board game and laughed. It was clear their hearts were not in the game. He scooped up the tiles, about to toss them all back into the pouch, when he got an idea. Quickly he began searching in earnest for the right letters.
By the time Heather returned carrying a large tray, he was leaning back on the sofa, chewing one of the cookies, which actually had turned out to be pretty good. Lots of nuts. He tracked her movements as she walked across the room with the grace of a fawn. And like that rare moment when he’d spotted the underside of a female deer’s tail, snowy white, he relished the flashes of creamy white thigh he saw as Heather’s robe prettily split open as she walked. She set the tray within reach on the coffee table to reveal a platter of meat, cheeses, olives, capers, and nuts. She’d also brought bottled water for herself and the bottle of white for him.
He stretched out his arm and took her hand, then reeled her in as neatly as he had the fish earlier that day. She fell into his lap, laughing nervously.
“That looks amazing,” he said, and kissed her nose.
“Thank you, kind sir,” she replied, then reached down to close her robe, which had begun to slip open.
“Now, I believe it’s your turn.”
“Oh, I already put down my letters.”
“And I just put down mine.”
“You did?” Heather turned to look at the board. On it she saw the letters spell out:
WILL YOU GO OUT WITH ME
Heather turned and, with a shy smile, reached for the pouch of letters. She dug through until she found the ones she was looking for. These she laid in place below his letters.
Bo read the word over her shoulder and grinned from ear to ear.
YES
She turned back slowly and slid her arms around his neck. Her face glowed in the firelight and her hair took on the luster of twenty-four-karat gold. Miles Davis was playing a slow tune on the horn as she lowered her head toward his. He caught the scent of her perfume . . . jasmine, he thought.
“Y-E-S,” she spelled out. Then she leaned forward to place her lips on his.
“You win,” he said, then kissed her again.
Chapter Sixteen
HEATHER HAD SLEPT like a log the night before, even with Bo sleeping in the guest room. She giggled, remembering his face as he looked over his shoulder on his way down the hall. Like a man condemned. He might not have slept so well, she thought, giggling again.
When she awoke, she wasn’t covered in a sheen of perspiration. Rather, the room was deliciously cool and the air sweet. She breathed deep. And wait . . . She sniffed again. That wasn’t flowers. That was coffee!
She followed the scent like a hound dog toward the kitchen, stopping when she caught sight of Bo standing at the sunroom window, a mug in his hand, staring out. He was wearing only his pants, allowing her a view of his beautiful back—broad-shouldered and tanned, narrowing at the waist. Her fingers twitched to sketch him. All the windows were open and, as Cara had promised, a refreshing breeze blew in from the ocean. Pavarotti and Poseidon were chirping questioningly, asking him for seed. But Moutarde was already at his top perch singing loudly.
“You’re up!”
Bo swung around from his reverie. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
“The scent of coffee is like a bugle alarm to me.” She lifted her nose. “And is that bacon?”
“I’m going to make you breakfast.”
Heather came to join him at the window, slipping easily into his arms. “How’d you sleep last night?”
“In the twin bed?” he asked, tongue in cheek. “The mattress is lumpy. Must’ve been Palmer’s from back in the day. But that wasn’t what kept me awake all night.” He set his mug on the table then bent to kiss her soundly, taking his time, letting his tongue roll around the insides of her mouth.
His lips tasted of coffee. Heather felt her knees grow weak and a soft sigh escaped her mouth when he finished.
“Does that give you an idea of the tortures I endured knowing you slept prettily in your bed clear on the other side of the house?”
She giggled as color rose to her cheeks.
“And if that wasn’t bad enough, it was a steaming oven in here. Baby, why do you sleep with the windows closed at night? You’re supposed to open them up.”
She ducked her head. “I . . . I’ve been sleeping with them closed because I was afraid to keep them open.”
“Don’t be afraid,” he said in a gentle tone. He lifted her chin. “Not anymore. I won’t let anything happen to you. Take a deep breath. Smell that?”
Heather closed her eyes and sniffed. She caught a heavy floral scent on the breeze. “Honeysuckle.”
“That’s right. And hear that? That’s the ocean, not traffic. It’s heaven out there. Don’t cut yourself off from it because you’re afraid. Life’s too precious to live in fear. Open the windows and let the breezes flow in.”
She listened to his words and believed them. This was her life, the only one she had. She wouldn’t let fear destroy her chances at happiness. This was the first morning since she’d arrived that she’d awoken without the pressing heat of a closed-up house. The air was fresh and inviting, sweet as a morning should be.
“I will.”
“Good,” he said, kissing her on the nose. “Now how about some breakfast?”
Heather stretched her arms high over her head. “Mmm, yes, please!”
Bo slipped his arms around her waist and drew her in for another kiss. “You shouldn’t go stretching like that. The morning light reveals all your attributes. Especially in front of a man who didn’t sleep a wink all night for thinking of you down the hall.”
Heather laughed, a bit embarrassed. She’d had no idea he could see through her nightie. They went into the kitchen, where she saw bread waiting in the toaster, bacon sizzling on the skillet, eggs whipped in a bowl. She settled in to watch him make breakfast, feeling taken care of. Watching him flip the bacon with quick twists of the fork, then step over to the grits and give them a stir, she couldn’t believe she was in her own life, not some romance novel.
So this is what it’s like to be in love, she thought, and mentally hugged herself.
CARA WAS STUCK in traffic over the bridge from Charleston to the Isle of Palms. It was a parking lot. She pulled out her phone and texted Emmi: Stuck on the bridge. Coming!