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“I’m sure we will.”
Another kiss, this one on her cheek, and a closer embrace, just this side of platonic. She had to admit he smelled good, expensive and masculine, but that was about it for her attraction. After he left, she hurried to close the door.
Fifteen minutes later, Allie had unpacked and was lying in bed, listening to Erik humming through the connecting door—locked, she’d checked—and the faint lap of waves outside, nothing at all like the honk-and-siren sounds of Manhattan. The earplugs she wore every night still lay on her bedside table, waiting for her to get sleepy enough to put them in. As long as she was wide-awake, she might as well tune in to the natural world around her.
An hour later, she was still lying there. The swishing of the waves had gotten more vigorous and the wind had picked up. She could hear Erik snoring.
It had been a while since Allie had tried to sleep in a new bed—alone, anyway. Apparently she was bad at it. And this room made her feel as though she had to be sure she didn’t drool or sweat during the night. Her someday-mansion would feel welcoming and comfortable to anyone. Even her brothers.
She put the earplugs in, hoping they’d trigger some kind of Pavlovian sleep response.
They didn’t.
Finally the obvious hit her.
No one was forcing her to lie here. Erik was asleep; no one else was around. She’d wanted to go for a moonlit walk? She could do that. Right now. Sliding out of bed, she stuffed the earplugs into the pocket of her sleep shirt.
Hell, if she wanted to, she could dance naked on the beach all night long.
3
JONAS TURNED ONTO I-87 from Route 7, after skirting Albany. Forty-five minutes, give or take, and he’d be at Morningside a day earlier than expected. Funny, now that he was on his way, he couldn’t get there fast enough. The feel of the breeze, the way the woods smelled, the sand under his feet, the clear water around his body—it was like returning to the best part of his childhood. Maybe it was the best part. The one place his parents had relaxed their rules, or at least some of them.
His client had canceled dinner that afternoon, then Sandra texted him that she’d agreed to take over a Friday night gig for an ill friend, so would be delayed leaving. She’d encouraged him to go without her, saying she’d drive out the next morning. Jonas had protested, but not very strenuously—the idea of leaving the hot, crowded city behind him after a long week had been too seductive.
And Allie. What was it about a few perfunctory emails that had intrigued him so much? He knew plenty of smart, funny women in Boston. Most likely his memory of her from that dinner at Christmastime had been warped by time into a fantasy. Fantasy had an unfortunate way of beating reality. Case in point: he had believed Missy was a good life-match for him, while she’d been off spending his money and screwing one of her investment firm colleagues.
Plus, Erik might truly like Allie in a deeper way than usual, and she might have changed and truly like him. Someone like Allie would be good for Erik, settle him down, give him something to think and care about other than his own needs and desires.
Blink 182’s Neighborhoods ended; he fumbled around for his iPod and selected his favorite Red Hot Chili Peppers album, Stadium Arcadium, absently wondering what kind of music Allie liked, and whether Erik had entertained or appalled her on the drive up with his penchant for hard rock and heavy metal.
He’d better get Allie out of his head. Erik had described this trip as his best chance with the woman he wanted to marry. Jonas wouldn’t break the brother code of ethics by trying to get close to her himself.
But he might have to come to terms someday with being hot for his sister-in-law.
* * *
ALLIE STOOD AT the lake’s edge, enjoying the water’s surprising warmth lapping at her feet. This was fabulous! The moon was just over half full, but so bright, even through a thin layer of cloud cover, that she hadn’t bothered bringing out her flashlight. The pleasantly cool breeze kept any bugs at bay. She’d made a good decision to come out here instead of lying in that too-perfect room trying to force her body to sleep.
She strolled toward the boathouse, relishing the rolling splash of waves, the distant creak of tree trunks, the occasional glimpse of a bat. At the boathouse, she peered inside a window and was able to discern a few shadows that might be canoes or kayaks, she wasn’t sure.
Farther up the beach and toward the woods, the cottage tempted her. Moving closer, she could see a deck on the beach side of the house, on which sat a table and chairs. The perfect spot for sunning, reading or sipping cocktails. At the door, she hesitated before trying the knob. Locked up tight, she was sure.
