Uncharted Waters. Linda Castillo
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a number of different approaches a dozen times during the drive from Emerald Cove, and he still didn’t have the slightest idea what he was going to say to her. How was he supposed to act when he felt so damn responsible for her being a widow? As if nothing had ever happened? As if Rick weren’t dead and they could still have the same relationship they’d had four years ago? Why the hell did this have to be so difficult?
Glancing at his reflection in the visor, he frowned and cleared his throat. “Hey, Alison, I was in the neighborhood and was wondering if you and Kevin would like your own private tour tomorrow morning.”
Sighing, he scrubbed his hand over his face and tried again. “Hi, Alison. I couldn’t help but overhear Kevin talking about how much he liked planes. I thought maybe you two would like another tour tomorrow.”
Drew scowled at his reflection, disgusted. No matter what he said, it wasn’t going to be easy explaining why he was at her door when it was barely eight o’clock in the morning.
“Evans, you’re a freaking idiot,” he muttered.
The problem was, he realized, he didn’t trust his motives. Was he here because he owed it to Rick to treat his widow with the kindness and respect she deserved? Or did his motives have to do with something a hell of a lot more selfish?
Annoyed because he simply wasn’t sure, because his nerves were zinging with tension and the back of his neck was wet with sweat, he opened the truck door and got out. He told himself he wasn’t looking forward to seeing her. He denied the fact that he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind last night. He denied even more vehemently that he’d dreamed of her. That the dreams had been anything but appropriate.
Muttering a curse under his breath, he started down the sidewalk toward the bungalow at a determined clip. The house was older and small with lush tropical landscaping and plenty of windows. Typical South Florida, he thought, trying to remember the last time he’d taken any pride in his own home, where the landscaping was overgrown, the hurricane shutters badly in need of paint.
He reached the porch and knocked on the door. Because his palms were damp, he wiped them on his jeans and did his best to look nonchalant. This was not a big deal, he reminded himself. Damn it, it wasn’t.
The door swung open a moment later. Drew looked down to see the little boy looking up at him. The big grin on his face revealed hit-or-miss teeth and a frothy milk mustache. He wore faded Spider-Man pajamas. His feet were bare and his hair was sticking up at the crown like a rooster’s tail.
Drew wasn’t used to being around kids and for an instant he didn’t know what to say. Of all the scenarios he could have faced this morning, this wasn’t one of them. “Hi,” he said after an interminable moment.
The little boy’s eyebrows went up. “Do Mommy and me get to take another plane ride?”
Drew shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Really?”
Drew glanced into the living room. “It might be a good idea to check with your mom first, though.”
“She’ll probably say no.”
“Why’s that?”
Kevin frowned down at his bare feet, looking dejected. “I burned my toast.”
“Oh.” Vaguely, Drew wondered how that constituted her shooting down a private tour of the Keys, but let it go. He looked down at the boy, felt his eyes narrow. “Aren’t you supposed to ask who it is before you open the door?”
“I forgot,” he confessed, then glanced up at Drew, his big brown eyes challenging. “You gonna tell on me?”
“Depends. You think you can remember to ask who’s at the door from now on?”
Looking hopeful, Kevin nodded adamantly. “Yeah.”
“I’ll see what I can do, okay?” Because he was light-years out of his element, Drew cleared his throat. “Is your mom around?”
“She’s in the kitchen trying to get my toast out of the toaster. It’s stuck in there really bad. I think she might be mad.”
“Mad, huh?” For some reason, the thought of Alison angry over a piece of burned toast made him smile. “Mind if I come in?”
“I guess it’s okay. I mean, since you know how to fly an airplane and everything.” The little boy stepped back and swung the door wide. “I’m gonna be a pilot when I grow up. You want to see my Zoomer 57 Skyeagle?”
Scrubbing his hand over his jaw to hide his smile, Drew stepped inside. “Ah, maybe after I talk to your mom, okay?”
“’Kay.”
He could smell the burned toast now, but it was laced with something else that was definitely not edible. In the back of his mind he wondered what else Kevin had put down the toaster. He wondered if Alison had remembered to unplug the appliance before attempting to pry it out of the slot.
He looked around the small living room. Even though Alison and Kevin had only recently moved in, she’d already managed to transform the house into a home. It was neat, but had a comfortable, lived-in look and personal touches that told him someone cared deeply. Rattan furniture was tastefully arranged in the cozy living area. Fluffy pillows and a bright red toy car littered the overstuffed easy chair. An array of books filled the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. He saw hardcovers and paperbacks, bestsellers, cookbooks, and several medical books on asthma and allergies. Dozens of photographs of Kevin at different ages and of Rick’s parents were displayed on the mantel above the hearth. The moving boxes strewn about were empty, and Drew figured they would be going back to the moving company soon. Across from the television set where Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote duked it out, a TV tray sported a plate with a sunny-side up egg, a link of sausage and glasses of milk and orange juice—no toast.
“She’s in the kitchen.” Kevin took a big gulp of milk, then pointed.
Taking a deep breath, Drew started for the kitchen. Even from the hall, he could hear Alison grumbling. She was pounding on something and she wasn’t the least bit happy about it. He entered the kitchen to find her at the counter with her back to him, about to insert a fork into the toaster slot. The first thing that registered in his mind was that the toaster was, indeed, unplugged. That was good. The second thing that registered was that she was wearing a very short robe that rode high on a set of very pretty legs. That was bad. Very, very bad.
For several long seconds Drew just stood there, staring at her, wondering how he was going to get through this without doing something stupid. He tried hard not to ogle her. Damn it, he didn’t want to acknowledge just how good she looked in that robe. That her legs were long and silky and shapely as hell. Or that she painted her toenails the color of cherry ice cream.
His eyes did a slow, dangerous sweep of her. From the top of her blond head, which was clad in big rollers, past slender shoulders, a waist so narrow he could span it with his hands, all the way to her very sexy toes. The robe was comfortably worn and faded to pale blue. He noticed the roundness of her bottom through the thin fabric, felt his mouth go dry.
She shouldn’t have looked sexy standing there wearing a threadbare robe and curlers in her hair. But she did, and the sight of her hit him between the eyes like a jet traveling at supersonic speed.
Suddenly, the kitchen seemed too small. Drew was aware of his heart drumming in his chest. The uncomfortable rush of blood to his groin that made his jeans feel two sizes too small. The slick of sweat on the back of his neck dripped down between his shoulder blades. The combination of lust and guilt and a dozen other emotions he didn’t want to name hammered at him like hailstones against glass until he thought he would shatter. He looked at her bare legs, wondered what it would be like to run his hands over the flesh, to have those legs wrapped around his waist....
Shamed that he could be having such thoughts about his best friend’s widow, Drew started to back out of the room, but his hand bumped the milk carton on the counter. A quick spurt of adrenaline had him reaching