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I’d never danced on a beach before, yet in the next hour, this man had me in his arms, dancing under the moonlight. The sound of crashing waves was our music, and the beating of our hearts was the tempo. Yes, I—a girl who had been raised in the upper crust of Connecticut, who summered in Maine and lived the pristine and poised lifestyle of the Hathaway family—was barefoot in the sand with my arms around a stranger, giggling like a schoolgirl.
There was something about Luke that overwhelmed me.
Surprisingly, I wasn’t afraid of the rush.
We didn’t kiss that night.
I didn’t go back to his hotel room.
I didn’t know if anything—other than this awesome guy with wild words and a zest for life, who had shown me a fun hour and a half before returning me to my room—would come of it.
And yet …
“Your daddy swept me off my feet,” I sigh to Joe, who gives a nod and a purr, as if he understands.
I drop my head into my hand.
I shouldn’t be having this discussion with a cat.
There’s a huge part of me that is so angry with Luke for breaking my heart. He doesn’t know I fell for him over the next forty-eight hours. He doesn’t know I often think of him at midnight—when the moon is high, the house is quiet, and I’m alone with my thoughts.
My thoughts are always of him.
Joe leaps off my lap and jumps onto the coffee table, then to the love seat, and down to the ground like an acrobat. He stops by the half-wall that leads toward the foyer, looks over his shoulder, and lets out a loud mewl in my direction.
Puffing my cheeks with a large exhale, I rise from the couch and follow Joe to the front door.
“I know; I know.”
I tighten the belt on my robe, push my shoulders back, and march outside and up to the back passenger door of the truck.
My knock is forceful and loud enough that I hear a rustling inside and then a loud thump that sounds like it came from the roof.
Luke opens the door, and I step back. He’s rubbing the top of his mop of hair and squinting his groggy eyes at me.
“You should come inside,” I suggest.
“Why the change of heart?”
“For the record, I never asked you to sleep here. You offered and made the first move. I merely gave you a blanket.” I shift on my heels and cross my arms over my chest. “A grown man shouldn’t sleep in the back of a truck. You need a couch and to sleep in your own home.”
“All right. You don’t have to beg,” he jokes, and I squint my eyes at him. “You know I was fine out here, but if you’re so desperate for me to come inside, who am I to go against the wishes of a beautiful woman?”
“For the record, these aren’t my wishes. They’re Joe’s.”
“The cat told you to let me inside?”
“Yes.” I smash my lips together and then head inside the house.
In the living room, I stand and watch as Luke walks in and kicks off his shoes. He looks exhausted as he lifts his arms up in a yawn, exposing a sliver of taut skin and the faint lines of his lower abdomen.
His eyes are glazed over as he looks back at me. “Do you want me to take the couch, or does Joe think I should sleep in the bedroom with you?”
Ignoring him, I walk my fine robed ass straight into the master bedroom and close the door. There’s a soft padding at the base of the door, followed by a meow.
Luke’s voice echoes from the other side of the house. “Joe, you rascal, leave her alone. Come snuggle with me on the couch.”
The padding continues, so I open the door and see Joe is in the hallway, staring up at me with pleading eyes and a swishing tail, waiting for an invitation. I appreciate he’s such a gentleman and not assuming he’s allowed in here just because he’s cute.
