The Secret Sister. Brenda Novak
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if you have the time, you and I could lift the heavier stuff into your truck?”
A bemused expression appeared on his face. “Didn’t I offer to do that yesterday?”
“Yes. And it was very nice of you.”
“Even though my offer was rejected, along with my invitation to dinner.”
She ignored the dinner part. “Something came up for Keith that...unexpectedly took him away.”
He scratched his head. “Must’ve been pretty important, since he left you stranded.”
“Oh, it was. He wouldn’t have abandoned me unless...unless he had to. Anyway, I appreciate you helping me out. I’ll try not to hold you up.”
“No problem.”
“Great.” She wished she had time to dry her hair, but she hated to make him wait. He had to be on his way to work, or he wouldn’t have needed the key she’d forgotten to return. “I’ll just grab my shoes.”
He took hold of her wrist and, when she frowned up at him, lowered his gaze to her chest. “Unless you want me to drive into a tree or something, you might want to change your shirt, too.”
She looked down at where her hair had soaked her tank and realized why he’d made that suggestion. “Oh. Of course.”
He’d let go almost as soon as he touched her, but he didn’t glance away, and he didn’t try to hide the fact that he liked what he saw.
A sexy smile curved his lips as Maisey quickly folded her arms to cover herself. Apparently he enjoyed throwing her off balance. “I can’t believe you’d point that out and embarrass us both,” she said.
He raised his eyes to meet hers. “I’m not sure embarrassed would be the right word for me.”
She was more flattered than offended, and that took Maisey by surprise. So did the warmth pouring through her. She hadn’t been aroused since before Ellie died. Not that she was willing to admit to being aroused. Surely it couldn’t happen that fast or that easily with someone she barely knew, not after she’d struggled for months to fulfill her husband’s sexual needs without feeling so much as a twinge of desire. “I mean...most men would simply pretend they didn’t notice.”
“Have you ever tested that theory?” he asked dryly. “Because I’m guessing those would be men who’ve made love to a woman far more recently than I have.”
She hadn’t managed to shame him, which told her she should drop the subject and go change. But she couldn’t resist a comeback. “What’s it been—a whole week?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He reached down and picked up a box of cereal, what was left of a gallon of milk, a bowl and spoon he must’ve set on her porch before knocking. “Anyway, hate me for having a sex drive if you want, but I brought you breakfast.”
She was tempted to refuse the food and figure out some other way to get her furniture. She didn’t think it would be wise to continue to associate with Rafe. As nice as he’d been—to carry her luggage, offer to help her move, bring her food—there was something about him she found threatening. And it wasn’t hard to guess why. After what had happened before, when they were younger, they were too sexually aware of each other. There was no forgetting the past, regardless of any pact they might have agreed to along those lines—perhaps because that incident had been so unsatisfying. Rafe hadn’t been interested enough to make it anything more.
But the last thing she needed was to spoil her fresh start by sleeping with her neighbor, especially if it was only to prove she could finally capture his full attention—or that she was attractive and desirable and her husband should never have thrown her over for someone else.
“Really? You have to think about whether you’ll accept my food?” He shook the jug to cause the milk to slosh. “That says something, doesn’t it? Since you’re obviously not in the best of circumstances.”
“No, I want it.” She couldn’t refuse. She was too hungry. She hadn’t eaten since the oatmeal she’d cooked early yesterday morning before leaving for the airport, and that cup of tea at Coldiron House. She’d been too tense to choke down a sandwich. “I should be more leery of you, though,” she added to show that her acceptance was a grudging one.
“Trust me, you’re leery enough,” he said.
“Merely trying to learn from my past mistakes.”
He tucked the cereal box under his arm, as if he might not give it to her, after all. “Did I hear you correctly? You’re insulting your only source of help? Is that what happened yesterday with Keith?”
“You’re tough. You can take it.” She felt a smile tug at her lips as she jerked her head to invite him in. “Any chance you could carry that into the kitchen while I change?”
After putting on a bra and a dry shirt and combing her hair, she found him leaning against the wall. “It’d be nice if there were somewhere to sit in here,” he said.
She handed him the key she’d retrieved when she changed. “Yes, it would.”
“So...why isn’t there? What could be more important to your brother than making sure you have a bed to sleep in and the other stuff you need?”
She released an exaggerated sigh. “It’s a long story.”
“Which is the short way of telling me you’re not going to explain.”
“Wouldn’t want to bore you,” she said as she opened the Frosted Flakes and poured them into her bowl.
He lowered his voice. “I get that you’re a proud person. I’m even beginning to think you might be the kind of proud that drives everyone nuts for no good reason. But...”
“Excuse me?” A slight quirk to his mouth told her he was teasing, but no one wanted to be thought of as being “the kind of proud” that drove everyone nuts. That made her sound like her mother. “You don’t know anything about me!”
“I know you’re a Lazarow,” he said.
She hesitated before adding milk to her bowl. “What does that mean?”
“Who else would sleep out on the beach rather than go to a neighbor for help? If you weren’t so determined to keep up appearances, you could’ve slept on my couch. Saved yourself a lot of needless misery. We are old friends—sort of.”
“One sexual encounter—a long time ago—doesn’t make us friends,” she pointed out. “And you should be thankful I didn’t come knocking at your door. You don’t want a needy neighbor.”
“Is that so?” he said. “Because it looks like I’ve got one whether I want it or not.” He opened several of the cupboards and left them that way. “You have no furniture, no blankets, no food. What’s going on? I can see why you might not want to come to me. But what I don’t understand is why you didn’t stay at the house where you were raised. Where you could eat to your heart’s content. You could’ve slept in a nice, warm, expensive bed, Princess Lazarow, instead of huddling alone, out on the beach, where anything could’ve happened to you.”
There was so much of what he’d said that she wanted to address—the comment about her mother and brother and the “princess” reference that suggested she considered herself too good for regular people (like him, no doubt). But all of it was painful and convoluted and something she’d been trained not to discuss with outsiders. She couldn’t imagine he’d want to hear the dirty details, anyway. In many respects, she’d been blessed with more than most people. The rest of the islanders certainly viewed her that way. Complaining would only make her look ungrateful and spoiled. So she skipped over everything except the least personal part of what he’d said. “Stop being so dramatic. Except for a few mosquito bites, nothing bad happened while I was on the beach.”
“It