Dream Lake (Friday Harbor #3)(24)

Alex eased her apart from him, and turned away with a wordless sound.

Zoë still felt the vital imprint of his body everywhere they had touched, a throbbing awareness lingering right beneath her skin.

Desperately trying to think of a way to break the silence, she cast her mind back to what he’d said about pest-proofing. She blurted out, “Will I have to give up the cat door?”

A scratchy sound came from him, as if he were clearing his throat, and she realized he was struggling to hold back a laugh. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder, his eyes bright with amusement. “Yes,” he said.

After Zoë stepped out of his arms, Alex became businesslike again. While Zoë cautiously investigated the rest of the small house, he continued to take measurements for a rough floor plan. He tried to focus on anything other than Zoë.

He wanted to take her somewhere, to some dark quiet room, and undress her, and screw her nine ways from Sunday. But she possessed a fragile dignity that, for some reason, he didn’t want to undermine. He liked the way she’d stood up to him when they’d argued about the butcher-block countertops. He liked the little smiles that danced out from beneath her shyness. He liked far too many things about her, and God knew no good could come of it. So he was going to do them both a favor and stay away from her.

While Alex peeled off sticky notes and adhered them in a line across the old chrome table, Zoë went to the side door that opened to the carport. “Alex,” she said while looking through the dirt-striped window. “Is it difficult to turn a carport into a garage?”

“No. Structurally it’s built about the same as a garage. I’d just have to add sides, insulation, and a door.”

“Would you include that in the quote, then?”

“Sure.”

Their gazes caught, and an electric awareness crackled between them. With effort, Alex refocused on the pad of sticky notes. “You can go now,” he said. “I’m going to be here for a while, getting some measurements and taking pictures. I’ll lock up when I leave and have a new key made for you.”

“Thanks.” She hesitated. “Do you need me to stay and help with anything?”

Alex shook his head. “You’d only get in the way.”

The ghost approached the table. “All that charm,” he said to Alex in a marveling tone. “Is it natural, or do you have to work on it?”

Zoë approached the table and waited until Alex brought his gaze to meet hers. “I want to … well, thank you,” she said, her face pink.

“It was nothing,” Alex muttered.

“You were very kind,” she persisted. “Maybe to return the favor … I could make dinner for you sometime.”

“Not necessary.”

The ghost looked disgusted. “What’s wrong with letting her make you dinner?”

“It would be no trouble,” Zoë persisted. “And I’m … not a bad cook. You should try me.”

“You should try her,” the ghost repeated emphatically.

Alex ignored him and looked at Zoë. “My schedule’s pretty tight.”

The ghost spoke to Zoë as well, even though she couldn’t hear him. “He means he’d rather sit somewhere alone and drink like an attention-deficit camel.”

Zoë’s gaze dropped in response to Alex’s refusal.

“In a couple of days,” Alex said, “I’ll drop by the inn with some drawings. We’ll go over them and make changes if necessary. After that, I’ll work up a quote.”

“Come by any day after breakfast. It ends at ten on the weekdays, eleven-thirty on the weekends. Or … come a little earlier and have some breakfast.” Zoë touched the surface of the chrome table with a neatly filed fingertip. Her hands were small but capable, the nails clear-varnished. “I like this dining set. I wish there was a way to restore it.”

“It can be restored,” Alex said. “All it needs is a workover with some steel wool and few coats of spray chrome.”

Zoë looked at the table speculatively. “I suppose it’s not worth the trouble, with one of the chairs missing.”

“The fourth chair is in a corner of the carport,” Alex said. “You can’t see it because my truck is parked there.”

Zoë brightened at the information. “Oh, good. That makes the set worth saving. Otherwise I thought we’d have to sixty-nine it.”

Alex looked at her blankly.

She stared back at him with innocent blue eyes.

“You mean eighty-six it,” Alex said, his voice carefully monotone.

“Yes, what did I—” Zoë broke off as she realized the slip she’d made. A tide of crimson color washed over her face. “I have to be going,” she said in a small voice. She grabbed her bag and scampered from the house.

The door closed with a slam.

The ghost was laughing so hard he was soundless.

Alex braced his hands on the table and lowered his head. He was so turned on he couldn’t stand straight. “I can’t take this,” he managed to say.

“You should ask her out,” the ghost eventually said, when he was able.

Alex shook his head.

“Why not?”

“The number of ways I could hurt a woman like that …” Alex paused with a faint smile. “Hell. I can’t count that high.”