Suddenly Last Summer. Sarah Morgan
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to pull women you should change the way you tell the story—less mention of bone and more heroics might help.”
“You want heroics?”
“Every woman wants heroics.”
“Really? I had no idea. It’s a wonder I’ve scored at all in the past. So give me some help here—what do I have to do to impress you? Fight a moose? Wrestle a bear?”
“Wouldn’t that ruin your suit?” She was softening, her anger a faint glow instead of an intense burn.
“I could ask the bear to wait while I hang my jacket on a tree.” The scent of her hair made him dizzy. He was sure if a bear walked up now, he wouldn’t notice it.
“You pretend to worry about your suit, but you are quite at home in the forest.”
Sean’s foot sank into mud again and he turned the air blue. “Trust me, I really am worried about my suit. It’s done nothing to deserve this treatment.”
“So it has to be intellectual heroism. Nothing physical.”
“I have no problems with physical.” He moved closer to her and saw her back away fractionally. “I just might remove my clothes first.”
She backed away until she was pressed up against the tree. “Don’t flirt with me.”
“Why not? It’s the perfect way to take our minds off a bad day.” He planted his hand against the tree and smiled down at her, forcing himself not to kiss that mouth. Not yet.
She’d probably been on her feet for hours and yet she looked cool and elegant, a scarf knotted with artful simplicity around her throat. Her style was effortless and subtle, her hair glossy dark and cut in a sleek, geometric bob that brushed her jaw. She looked delicate and fragile but he knew she was neither of those things. She was strong, fit and driven by more passion and energy than anyone he’d ever met except perhaps his grandfather. She poured that passion and energy into everything she did, from cooking to—
His body hardened.
She pushed at his chest. “We’re here because you wanted to see the boathouse, remember?”
“I confess I brought you here with nefarious intentions.”
“Nefarious?” She rolled her tongue around the word and he tried to focus his mind sufficiently to provide a translation.
“Maléfique?”
“Wicked. Of course.” She frowned, irritated with herself. “It’s just not a word I have reason to use often at Snow Crystal.”
“Maybe we should do something about that.”
“I don’t think so.” Cool, back in control, she ducked under his arm. “You wanted to see what we’ve done, so come and see. I’m excited about this place. It’s the first time I’ve been involved with something from the start.”
He forced himself to focus on her words and not on the long, lean lines of her body.
“So I’ve told you why I wanted to be a doctor. Now it’s your turn. Did you always want to be a chef?”
It occurred to him that it was the first personal question he’d asked her.
“From the age of four. I was making madeleines with my mother. She was a pâtissière. You call it pastry chef. She stood me on a stool so that I could reach the table and I helped her whisk the mixture. I still remember how it felt to pull the tray from the oven and know I’d made them. The aroma filled our little apartment. And so did my mother’s smile when she tasted them. I decided that was what I wanted to do. Make people smile with my food.” Her own smile faltered for a moment and he saw something in her face before she turned away and walked the last few strides to the boathouse, taking the flashlight with her.
He followed, walking on a carpet of pine needles, twigs crunching under his feet while wondering what the rest of her story was. Because there was more, he was sure of that.
She took the steps onto the half-finished deck. “Be careful not to trip. There are still some planks lying around and the railings aren’t finished. You might end up in the water.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time. My shoes are already ruined so I might as well ruin the suit right along with it.” He glanced around him, surprised by the progress. “You’re closer to finished than I thought you’d be.”
“That makes it worse. We so nearly made our deadline.”
“Why this obsession with deadlines? Is my brother a tough boss or something? Do you need me to beat him up for you?”
Her eyes glinted in the semidarkness. “Jackson is the best boss anyone could ever have. Do not ever say a single word against him or you’ll make me angry.”
“Hey, calm down. Jackson is a saint,” Sean drawled. “I’ve always said it.” But he wondered what it was about his brother that induced such loyalty from Élise.
Pondering that, dealing with the surprising flash of jealousy, he strolled across the half-completed deck and stared through the glass into darkness.
It was strange to see it renovated.
This place had been his hideout. Somewhere he could sit with his nose in a book and not be disturbed. Hell, he was pretty sure he’d carved mathematical algorithms into the time frame. He and his brothers had played on the old splintered planks and hidden when their grandfather had come looking for them. There had always been something that needed to be done at Snow Crystal. Trails to be cleared, logs to be chopped, trees to be tapped—the list of jobs was endless and his grandfather had applied himself tirelessly to the upkeep of the family home.
Sean remembered his tenth birthday when his grandfather had told him proudly that Snow Crystal would belong to the three boys one day. It was a legacy, he’d said, something that had to be preserved and protected for future generations.
Sean had kept his head down and sanded the planks of wood, thinking of the science books in his bag and wanting to ask his grandfather if “legacy” meant the same thing as “burden.” He’d heard his father use the word burden a hundred times. Heard him talk about being trapped in a life he hadn’t wanted.
Sean hadn’t wanted it, either.
Instead, he dreamed of being a surgeon. And he dreamed of doing it in a large, busy hospital far away from the lake and forests of Snow Crystal.
You didn’t need to come. You should have stayed in Boston.
With his grandfather’s voice ringing in his ears, Sean paced to the edge of the completed part of the deck. “I’m not used to seeing this place without daylight between the planks. So what is left to do apart from the deck?”
“Just finishing touches.” Élise was looking through the glass into the empty shell. “The internal decoration was finished yesterday. I still have to take delivery of tables and chairs and I have a few final staff interviews to do. All that was supposed to be finished in time for the opening party.”
“And when is that?”
“A week from today. I know Kayla sent you an invitation.”
“I get a lot of emails.”
“You weren’t planning to come.” She sounded baffled, as if she couldn’t understand how a person with his heritage wouldn’t want to spend every spare minute here. And he was used to that. He didn’t expect her to understand.
“I was going to check my schedule.”
The night air was still and quiet, the only sound the occasional call of an owl or a soft splash as a bird skimmed the surface of the lake.
“Whatever he said to you, however he acted, I know your grandfather would have been pleased and relieved to see you there tonight.”
Pleased?