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“He’s sleeping.”Finally,said his tone of voice.
The negative feelings stewing in her cooled abruptly at the evidence that Amos found parenting a six-year-old exhausting. Try twenty-five of them at once, she wanted to say.
“Please.” He spread his hands in an appealing gesture. “Come aboard.”
Eying his houseboat and seeing no evidence of any rocking, she decided she might be okay. “Very well. But if I start to feel queasy, I’ll have to leave.” Before he thought to touch her again, she braved her way across the railed plank and stepped onto a glossy deck. “What’s with the nameCamelot?”
A faint smile. “Why, this is my castle, of course.” The main door had a small, stained-glass centerpiece. He pulled it open and waved her in. “Welcome.”
Grace caught her breath as she entered the dwelling ahead of him. Bright and tidy, the interior was not unlike the tiny houses she admired on television, only more spacious. From the whitewashed paneled walls to the built-in cabinetry, every whimsical nook served some utilitarian purpose. Area rugs softened the gleaming hardwood floor. Recessed lighting lit the inviting seating areas, and quartzite countertops added luster to the kitchen area. The air smelled of fresh bread and furniture polish.
“Wow,” she breathed, noting a short run of ladder-like stairs on the far side of the living space that probably led to a cabin for sleeping. Itwasa bit of a castle, only Queen Guinevere was apparently dead.
“Where does Simon sleep?”
Amos grimaced and gestured toward the captain’s quarters. “For now, in my bed. He doesn’t yet want to sleep alone belowdecks. Can I get you something to drink?”
The cozy space heightened Grace’s awareness of the SEAL. “Water would be nice, thanks.” She moved toward a window seat to put distance between them only to stop short before an immense collection of books crowding the built-in shelving that occupied an entire wall.
“This is quite a library you have.”
“Aye.” He came back to her and offered her a bottle of cold water.
“Thank you.”
“I like books.” He cast a pride-filled look at his collection. “I’ve read them all.”
“Really.” Grace stepped closer to the books, noting their dented and worn spines as she twisted off the cap on the bottle. “EvenGulliver’s Travels?”
“Of course.”
“Moby-Dick?”
“Read it three times. The sea is in my blood. If you go back far enough, my ancestors were Vikings.” He eased onto the window seat, leaving plenty of room for her to join him.
Grace did not. Something about Amos threatened her barely reconstructed heart.
He draped a powerful arm along the back of the loveseat, staring at her. “What did you think about my poem?”
Grace sipped her water and pretended to study the titles in his library. Most of them were classics, but there were modern authors here, as well—David Baldacci and Ivan Doig. “It was very well written.” She guarded her emotional response, how it made her sob into her pillow more than once. “How did you lose Simon for so long?”
He smiled rather cynically. “My late wife ran off with him. I spent five-and-a-half years looking for him,” he added. “Turns out he was with his step-aunt in nowhere, Mississippi, abandoned by a mother who loved herself more than she loved her son.”
Given the deep freeze in his tone, Grace could tell he had lost all respect for his dead queen. Before he could press her for similar information, she faced him abruptly. “I charge thirty an hour minimum for tutoring.” She braced herself for his incredulity.
His eyes glinted. “I can do better than that. I’ll pay you a dollar per minute.”
What?As his gaze slid with appreciation over her lime green T-shirt, jean shorts, and bare legs, it occurred to Grace, even as her skin prickled with awareness, that such a generous offer came with strings attached.
“Yousaid you needed a tutor for Simon.That’sthe only reason I’m here.” She headed swiftly toward the door.
With speed that startled her, he cut her off. As their bodies collided, her senses leaped with awareness. But then his scent brought back memories of the most terrible day in her life, keeping her from being tempted.
“Don’t leave.” Amos’s smile had vanished. For the first time, his expression struck her as helpless. “I’m sorry. I am sadly out of practice when it comes to talking to women, especially pretty women.”
She refused to let the compliment appease her. “Sixty an hour is too much money.” But it would help quite a bit with the bills she owed.
“I take my son’s inability to read very seriously.”
