TOO HOT TO HANDLE Page 21

  Mike wasn't used to cars. He grew up in Brooklyn, and he and his mother not only had no need for a car, they had no money for a car. He did get his license when he was in med school, and had even owned a car at one time, but he never felt as if driving was a natural thing for him to do. Annabelle looked as if she'd been born to it and clearly enjoyed driving. The wind whipping through the cracked window teased the curls falling out of the twist held together by a pencil.

  He leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and let sleep take him. He awoke a few hours later to the crackling sound of tires rolling over a shell driveway.

  "Mike, we're here. At least I think we're here. This is the address, right?"

  Mike opened his bleary eyes and took a deep breath of salt air. The cedar-shingled house grayed by age rose above them as the roar of the ocean and the scream of seagulls drifted through the windows.

  "Yes. This is it."

  Annabelle's eyes widened. "Nick owns this place? The whole place?"

  "Yeah. He wanted to get a house large enough to sleep the whole family. His mother, grandmother, Vinny, Mona, and the kids."

  "He could sleep them and their thirty closest friends."

  Mike shrugged. It looked like a typical Westhampton beach house—only bigger. He opened the car door and stretched as he rose. Annabelle followed suit and released the door locks before she reached into the backseat and leashed Dave.

  Making his way to the popped trunk, Mike threw his bag over his shoulder and picked up Annabelle's. The woman certainly wasn't a light packer. Dave took off with her, his nose to the ground sniffing everything in sight and watering every area of the front yard he could reach to mark his new territory. He wasted no time claiming what was his.

  Annabelle turned toward the ocean. "I wish I was allowed to run. I've always loved running by the water. When I lived in Philly we'd take road trips to Ocean City, and I'd run on the beach every morning."

  "I never knew you lived in Philadelphia. When was that?"

  "A few years ago. I went part-time to art school and waited tables."

  There was still so much he didn't know about her. He did know enough to see that something was bothering her. It would be a mystery until she decided to talk to him about it. He just hoped she did. "Give it another month, and once your doctor gives you the okay—"

  "Yeah, but in another month, I won't be here. I'll be in Brooklyn."

  "Nick usually takes the family out here for a week or two in July. I always get an invite. You and your parents probably will too."

  "I don't think so."

  "Why not?"

  "Can you picture you, me, and my parents trapped on a glorified sandbar? Yup, that's my definition of hell. It would be like a twenty-four-hour marriage channel. All nagging, all the time. You can count me out. There's not a house large enough. Besides … it's against my religion to make plans more than a week in advance."

  "Hold on, you spent the last year planning a wedding."

  "I'm a recent convert."

  Mike dropped the bags and stepped behind Annabelle. His hands went to her waist, and his mouth to her ear. "Wanna hear my short-term plans?"

  She inhaled a sharp breath, and when he pulled her against him, she let it out with a whoosh. His hands moved forward and splayed against her stomach just below her breasts.

  "Yes."

  His lips quirked at the breathless quality of that one word. His dick twitched against her. "Oh yessssss."

  He kissed the side of her neck down to the thin white spaghetti strap holding up her blue and white cotton top. Damn, he knew he should have waited to get inside. "I want to make love to you for seventy-two hours straight."

  "I'd like to see you try. But first, I think we need to eat. You're going to need your strength."

  For now, the only thing Mike needed was Annabelle, but then, he didn't want her to think the only thing on his mind was sex. They'd have plenty of time to make love … over and over and over again. There was no need to rush it, no matter what his body told him.

  He reluctantly let her go and picked up the bags he'd practically thrown on the driveway before. He carried them up the stairs to the deck and unlocked the door.

  Dave barged through the threshold and almost knocked Mike over. Then came Annabelle, clinging to the other end of the leash like a skier behind a boat.

  By the time Mike caught up with her, she'd gone through the foyer and into the great room, which opened onto the back deck, the pool, and then the ocean. The east side of the house was mostly windows showing off the spectacular view. The sun shone on the water, sailboats with brightly colored spinnakers bobbed in the distance, and the sea grass over the dunes danced in the wind.

  "Wow." Annabelle spun around to take in the rest of the place. A large fireplace. Big, comfy white slip-covered couches. A dark wood floor and painted beams gave the house a comfortable feel without it being overly beachy. A figurehead of a hand-carved mermaid hung over the stone fireplace and looked as if it was taken off the bow of a tall ship.

  "Amazing." The mermaid called to her, so she approached the fireplace, stepped onto the hearth, and ran her fingers over the weathered wood, trailing over the ridges of the scales chiseled on her tail. "This looks real."

  "I'm pretty sure it is. Nick's not into reproductions."

  "Oh."

  The kitchen on the other side of the room was something out of Architectural Digest. Granite counter tops, dark wood cabinets, and industrial-size stainless steel appliances.

  Mike disappeared while Annabelle walked around picking up and examining knickknacks. When he returned, he set a cooler in the kitchen. Annabelle opened the cooler and shooed him away. She couldn't really cook, but she was good at putting stuff away. "I'll empty this. Is there anything left in the car?"

  "No, I don't think so."

  He stared at her so she stared right back. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. "I'll bring our bags to the bedroom. Do you want to come up and look around?"

  "I'm going to set out lunch for us. I'm hungry. I'll explore with you later. Okay?"

  Annabelle was nervous, and she wasn't the only one. Why Mike was nervous, she couldn't imagine. She'd caught him looking at her in that way he had—the way that made her feel as if he could read her mind. God, she hoped he couldn't. If he could, her plans for their first and last weekend together would be destroyed. She didn't want it to end yet. She was going to put it off as long as she possibly could. She loved him enough to give him that. They'd both end up hurting, but at least when he looked back at their time together, he'd have a few happy memories. And so would she.

  She emptied the cooler into the refrigerator, dumped the ice, and put the cooler on the porch to dry. She'd come a long way since the day she freaked over Mike telling her that he loved her. The conversation she'd had with Becca came to mind, and she cringed when she realized Becca had known long before she did that this was more than just sex. It had been more since day one. She hadn't realized it until it was almost over.

  Annabelle was lost in thought when Mike came up from behind and wrapped his arms around her. "Hey, what's wrong?"

  "Nothing. I was going to heat the knishes, but I'm not sure how to turn on that oven."

  He'd changed when he was upstairs into a sleeveless T-shirt and a pair of board shorts, and smelled of sunscreen. She stood back and watched as he took over in the kitchen, arranging the knishes on a cookie sheet and placing them in the oven. He took out two plates and began serving the food from the deli containers she'd left out.

  Mike moved around the kitchen with the same intensity as he moved around an X-ray machine. Within minutes, he had two plates full of food, napkins, and silverware in his hands.

  "Could you grab a few beers? I left some in the fridge last time I was here."

  "Sure." She retrieved the beers and followed him out to the deck.

  "I closed the gate to the steps so Dave can't take off."

  Dave commandeered a lou
nge chair with a mattresslike cushion and fell asleep with his big head in between his front paws. His back legs twitched as he let out a muffled high-pitched bark. Leave it to Rosalie to have a dog that talked in his sleep. He was probably dreaming of chasing seagulls on the beach.

  Mike stared at her like he couldn't believe his luck and guilt slammed into her hard. She smiled and prayed it didn't look as weak as it felt. She had to get her shit together. "I'll go check on the knishes."

  Mike watched the emotions bouncing around Annabelle's face like a ping-pong ball with ADD. She must be nervous as hell to choose to do anything in the kitchen. Nervousness could be a sign that a person was moving into unexplored territory. What territory was the question.

  He ignored the way she avoided the bedroom. He should be thankful she hadn't joined him, because he had a hard enough time concentrating on unpacking when he was in there alone. He could only imagine what would have happened if she'd gone with him.

  He shut down that train of thought, though not quickly enough. Imagining was not helping him to forward his plan. A plan that escaped him as soon as Annabelle stepped out onto the deck. Every time he saw her, his brain went into testosterone overload. It zapped everything but his sex drive. She'd donned sunglasses and lost her shoes. Her toenails were painted a fluorescent orange, like some newfangled emergency vehicle. It should have looked ghastly, but it didn't, and then there was that sexy little ankle bracelet.

  "I think I turned off the oven, but you better check it later just to be safe." She had a hand stuffed into a lobster oven mitt and held the baking sheet, looking for a place to put it.

  Mike was too caught up in staring at her to realize she could use a hand—maybe two. She set the hot tray on a wooden table and tried picking up a knish with her fingers but moved them away quickly. That threw cold water on him. Mike pulled his tongue off the floor.

  He took the oven mitt from her and picked up the baking sheet. "I'll just put these on a plate. That way we can set them on the table." God, she was sweet. She turned bright red, and it wasn't from the sun either.

  "Sorry. I didn't think about logistics."

  Mike gave her a quick kiss. "No problem. Be right back."

  He took the burnt knishes back to the kitchen. What had she been doing in here? He got a plate out of the cupboard and using a spatula, proceeded to chisel the knishes off the tray. He stifled a grin. Damn, she really couldn't cook, but the weird thing was, he thought it was cute. How sick in love was he?

  When he looked up, he saw her leaning against the doorframe, watching him. "Okay, I burned them. I told you I was bad in the kitchen."

  He reached for her hand and, carrying the burnt food in his other hand, took her out to the porch. She nervously fingered the little drawstring on her white skirt. He pulled her over to sit on his lap.

  Reaching around her, he moved her plate next to his, and handed her a beer. "I happen to like crispy knishes." He clinked his bottle against hers. "Cheers."

  Annabelle shrugged and took a drink. "You really expect me to eat sitting on your lap?"

  "Why not?"

  "'Cause I'll make a mess."

  "I'll chance it. I like being close to you." With one hand wrapped around Annabelle's waist, Mike tried cutting one of the burnt knishes single-handed. When that didn't work, he dipped it in some sour cream, hoping it covered the taste of incinerated potato, and smiled as he took a bite. Chewing it as the crust crumbled in his mouth was a whole new experience.

  Annabelle tossed her sandwich on her plate and took the rest of the knish from him. "Don't. Look. I love you for trying, but you'll make yourself sick. I thought maybe we could scrape off the burnt layer."

  Mike swallowed and then chased the taste down with some beer. He wouldn't be surprised if he had charred remains of the poor knish stuck in his teeth.

  "It wasn't that bad." He lied like a rug and said a silent prayer to whichever saint covered the whole domestic accord area. He'd have to go to his little dictionary of saints and find out. He had a feeling he'd need a lot of help in that particular area, if the look on her face was a clue. "What did I do?"

  "Nothing." She squirmed until she sat on his lap facing him and anchored her hands in his hair. The next thing he knew she kissed him like her life depended on it, sucking his tongue into her mouth. He groaned and pulled her against him. She broke the kiss, and when he opened his eyes, she had a sad look on her face.

  "I really missed you. More than I ever expected to."

  "Aw, Belle, I'm sorry. I missed you too. You do know this was unusual—the way I've been working isn't normal. I won't let us be apart for that long again."

  "I know, but it was okay. I'm fine by myself. I'm better with you, but I don't mind being alone."

  Mike wondered if she was trying to convince him or herself. "Are you still hungry?"

  Annabelle shook her head, and her eyes brightened. "Wanna go for a swim?"

  No, he wanted to take her to bed. Right now. But, he'd do anything to put that light back in her eyes. "Sure."

  She climbed off his lap and gave him a quick kiss. "I'll get my suit on. Where's our room?"

  "Up the stairs, second door on the left."

  "Be back in a sec."

  Chapter 13

  Mike took a deep breath. He scanned the beach and was glad to see it deserted. When Annabelle returned, he prayed the water was cold. If anyone else were on the beach, he'd have to cover her with a towel. She wore a black two-piece with a halter top that did amazing things to her chest—not that she had a problem in that department, but the gold trim highlighted her assets. The bottoms—what there were of them—were low with a gold belt. It wasn't the kind of belt to hold things up, either. No, it was the kind of belt to draw your attention with a charm hanging from it that swung from side to side. The damn thing was hypnotizing.

  "Hey, Mike. Are you ready?"

  "Huh?"

  She handed him a towel. "I found these in one of the closets upstairs."

  Dave slept on the lounge, so Mike figured they'd leave him to his nap. She walked toward the steps, giving him a rear view that would forever be burned in his memory. He watched her hips sway as she unlatched the gate and then closed it behind her while Mike was frozen in place with his mouth hanging open.

  "Last one in the water is a rotten egg!" She took off running down the steps.

  Mike shook out of his stupor and checked to make sure Dave wouldn't run for the gate and bowl him over in the process. Dave awoke when he heard Annabelle yell, but thankfully he only rolled onto his side and stretched out his legs.

  Annabelle kept up her full-out run. After a few yards, Mike figured out why. The sand felt like a lumpy frying pan over hot coals. His feet sank into the deep sand. The way she moved like a freaking gazelle over the beach made him feel like a lumbering ox. She ran into the water and dove into the first big wave. He spotted her swimming past the surf just as he hit the water.

  She turned around and watched as he swam to her.

  "I beat you."

  He stood and wiped the water from his eyes. "That wasn't a fair race." He pointed at her bikini. "You came out wearing that … and scrambled my brain like you knew it would. You took off before I even knew what happened."

  "You just can't stand losing to a girl, can you? Face it. I'm fast."

  "Yeah, you're fast as hell. How does the ankle feel?"

  "It's fine. Dr. Dolittle said I was healing, and I didn't need the boot or crutches anymore."

  "It's Dr. Doyle, and just because you don't need crutches or the boot doesn't mean you should be running."

  "But the sand is hot."

  "Tell me about it." He looked at the horizon and saw a huge wave heading their way. "Look out."

  She turned and swam out farther.

  "We're going to have to dive through it." Mike grabbed her hand. "Ready?"

  She nodded. The drag of the water rushed toward the building wave. "Here it comes."

  Annabelle dove, and he foll
owed her in. Sand and shell particles brought up from the bottom stung his skin. He popped his head out of the water and searched for her. She wasn't there. He turned and looked toward the empty shore. Mike fought back the panic and scanned the water. "Annabelle!"

  She popped up right next to him, laughing.

  "You scared the crap out of me!" He reached out and pulled her to him so hard he practically knocked the wind out of her. She grabbed him around the neck like a drowning swimmer, hooked her feet around his waist, and kissed him.

  He was tempted to take her right there in the water, but they were on a public beach—presently deserted, but they'd be in full view of whoever walked by. Granted, they were far enough out that someone would need binoculars to see anything, but Mike still had some decorum. Very little, apparently, since he carried her right out of the water, across the beach, and into the house and dumped her on the first couch he hit. Before Annabelle could draw another breath, Mike had her bikini top off and his mouth on her breast. She was his every fantasy come true.

  He had his hands full of her. She tasted like salt water and Annabelle, and he'd been starving for her. He pulled down her bottoms and tossed them over his shoulder. He strained against his swim trunks even as she struggled with the drawstring to free him. Mike kissed her and tried to undo the damage she'd done to the drawstring. She deepened their kiss, doing her best to get him so hot he was about to embarrass himself. It had been weeks since they were together in any way other than his dreams, and he was on the edge.

  Mike ended up ripping the drawstring off and sliding his wet trunks down. He gazed into eyes as open and direct as he'd ever seen them.

  "God, Belle. I love you."