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“I’ll take that chance.” He squeezed her hand, and swam back toward the house as if he said that kind of stuff to women every day.
Maybe he did.
But much too quickly, she was starting to want him to say those things only to her.
5
SANDRA EMERGED FROM her bedroom and headed for the stairs, smiling wryly. What kind of interesting new complications would crop up today? How did Erik spend the night? How would he react to Jonas and Allie this morning? Would he graciously bow out of the game or continue fighting for his uninterested lady? Sandra hoped he’d have the sense to do the former. A lot less messy all around. Erik hadn’t hung around long after Jonas and Allie burst in, but long enough for Sandra to see his pain. It was tough to feel betrayed by people you loved. She knew what that was like.
At the same time, Erik was denser than lead if he still thought he had a chance with Allie.
As for Sandra, she’d be fine. She was always fine. Life’s speed bumps—in her case molded by her own poor choices—might slow her down, but they never stopped her. Jonas wasn’t in love with her, would never be in love with her, and she probably never would have been truly in love with him. Darn it. He had it all—looks, money, sex appeal, money, charm, money, intelligence, money... She’d taken care of herself since she left her rebellious mistake of a marriage at age twenty-two, after sticking with it for five miserable years, mostly out of stubborn pride. The subsequent decision to live her life doing what she loved, even if it paid garbage, had been hers and hers alone, and she’d made it understanding the consequences. Unless she managed to marry rich, no cushy retirement in a tropical resort for her.
At the bottom of the stairs, her smile widened. She resisted the urge to rub her hands together and cackle. Who would be up this morning and what would the atmosphere be like in this very promising soap opera? It was ten-thirty. Jonas had most likely been awake for hours already. She didn’t know Erik’s and Allie’s schedules.
A glance into the kitchen showed Erik, alone, surrounded by white and stainless steel that reminded her of her mother’s taste. So cold, so uninviting, in spite of the wonderful cinnamon smell. Her dream kitchen would be all bright colors and cheerful pictures and cartoons on the refrigerator.
She smiled at Erik, slumped over a cup of coffee at the generous kitchen island, hair endearingly mussed. Tsk-tsk, somebody hadn’t slept well. “Well, hello, Erik. I see you’re a bright-eyed early bird like me.”
“Never miss a sunrise.” He waved heavily toward the coffeepot on the white counter. “The lifeblood is ready, help yourself. There are cinnamon rolls, too. Clarissa provided them. She’s our caretaker’s wife.”
“Ah, your caretaker. Is that like a babysitter?”
He rubbed his eyes as if his head hurt. “Ha ha.”
“I know, I know, I’m hilarious.” She poured herself coffee, glancing at him now and then, the great Meyer womanizer, not the arrogant jerk she expected, not quite. His type got lucky by being the nonthreatening buddy, the cute little brother. Then when women were lulled into feeling safe, bam, pants around the ankles. “Allie still asleep?”
“God, no. She gets up at dawn like my brother.” His grumpy jealousy was painfully obvious. “They’re probably starting their second marathon of the morning.”
Sandra shuddered comically. “It’s a sickness.”
“I’m telling you...”
“And what do they get out of it? Great bodies, good health, energy, long life...”
“Exactly.” He brought his hand down on the table. “Total waste of time.”
Sandra sipped her coffee, which was predictably excellent, pondering her next move. Talk to him about Allie now? Or stick with the small talk? Maybe she could do both. “So what’s your plan for today, Erik?”
“I’m going to show Allie around the property.”
“Uh...” Sandra gestured toward the cottage and beach. “I’m guessing she’s seen most of it.”
He gave a grunt of irritation. “Yeah, well, I’ll show her the attic. There are trunks of old clothes up there that belonged to my mom’s family going back generations. Allie is a designer. I told her she could have them.”
“Cool.” She sipped more coffee, judging him and the situation, then decided to risk it. “You like this Allie woman, huh?”
“Maybe.” He met her eyes, his so much like Jonas’s, but without that steady graveness. His looked ready to dance, though at the moment they were tinged with bitterness. “What’s it to you?”
