The Summer Getaway: A Novel(58)

She was everywhere, even when she wasn’t. A statement that, he admitted, made no sense, but was true. The cut flowers left in fancy vases around the house reminded him of her. As did the paintings he’d started noticing. Just yesterday, going through Leo’s desk, he’d found a dozen pictures of Robyn, from toddler right up to maybe fifteen years ago, when she’d been photographed with a couple of good-looking kids he would guess were Harlow and Austin.

He saw her first thing in the morning when she walked barefoot—regardless of the weather—onto the balcony they shared. He sat across from her at dinner, and inevitably caught sight of her exploring the old house during the day.

He could live with the low-grade desire that never left, the eagerness with which he hung on her every word. He’d let go of male pride about eleven seconds after meeting her. No, the real problem was, with her in the house, he couldn’t write.

Oh, he could type long, convoluted sentences about battle conditions and how many horses were killed, but he was going through the motions. He liked reliving history, smelling the gunpowder, hearing the screams.

These days that wasn’t happening. He was obsessed with a woman and could only wait for the fever to pass.

He’d never felt like this before. He’d wanted women, of course. He’d wanted and not had. Regardless, he’d managed to get through his damned day without acting like an idiot. He tried telling himself that if he could get her into his bed, he’d be fine. Only he knew that wasn’t true. Worse than wanting her was knowing that if someone offered him the chance to fuck her one glorious time or spend the rest of his life hanging out with her, seeing her smile, but only as a friend, that was the one he’d pick.

He stared at the pathetic three sentences he’d written in the past two hours, then slammed his laptop shut. He’d already gone for one run that morning, but maybe a second would clear his head. He had to figure this out. He wasn’t obsessive over anything, so why now? And why her?

He heard a light knock on his half-closed door. Instantly his heartbeat tripled in time.

“Yes?”

Robyn pushed open the door and smiled at him. “The wind’s come up from the right direction, finally. I’ve chartered a small sailboat. She’s thirty-two feet, so it’s going to be lively out there. I wondered if you wanted to join me.”

She had on slim-fitting jeans, deck shoes and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Her long blond hair was in a ponytail. She looked sexy and wholesome, and need poured through him until he couldn’t breathe.

“Sailing?”

She smiled. “That is generally what I do on a sailboat. You might have other experiences.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“I’m teasing. I’m a good captain. It’ll be fun. Say yes.”

“Yes.”

She laughed. “Just like that?”

With her, he would agree to anything.

She looked him over. “You’ll need to put on tennis shoes. Long sleeves to protect from sunburn. Sunscreen everywhere and a hat. Meet me by the car in fifteen minutes?”

“I’ll be there.”

She turned to leave, then faced him again. Her expression shifted to concern. “Do you get motion sickness?”

“Not as a rule.”

“On boats?”

“I don’t boat much. I’m an army guy. We travel by land.”

She eyed him. “I’m not addressing the military thing. As for you throwing up, I guess we’ll risk it. Motion sickness medicine can make you drowsy.”

“I won’t throw up.”

The smile returned. “If only wishing made it so.”

Sixteen minutes later, they were heading down the hill, Mason in the passenger seat.

“Have you ever been on a sailboat?” she asked.

“No. A couple ski boats. Fishing. This is the first time I’ve lived by water.”

“Then you’re in for a treat. Powerboats are great. They go fast, they have more room inside, the ride can be smoother, and you have a lot more control. But sailing is magical. It’s how the Vikings explored and conquered Europe. It’s how Drake became the first Englishman to sail the Straits of Magellan. I grew up sailing.” She flashed him a grin. “As opposed to boating.”

“I get the difference. You’re saying a sailboat is romantic.”

“I am. Thanks for getting that. Some people don’t.”

He wondered if her ex-husband was one of them. Or the cardiologist who hadn’t known what to do with her clit.

Don’t think about that, he told himself. Because he’d come up with about two dozen things to do down there, should he ever have the opportunity.

She circled the marina until she found a parking space. “I still have my six-pack license,” she said. “Just so you know.”

“You’re licensed to drink beer?”

She laughed. “No. A six-pack license says how many people I can have out on the boat. I haven’t kept up my other licenses. Harlow has more. Austin seems happier crewing.

“I miss my kids.” She shook her head. “Not the subject for today. Come on, Mason. Let’s pretend we’re Viking warriors.”

“I should have brought a gun.”

She laughed. “No shooting. I take it back. We’ll relax and let the wind take us where she will.”