“Of course.” Grant moved quickly to the door, obviously every bit as eager as she to end this uncomfortable scene. “I’ll, ah, I’ll start the coffee.”
Crista nodded. “Fine.”
“I’m not very good at coffee.” His smile was quick and overly bright. “I suppose you learned that yesterday morning, but—”
“For God’s sake, Grant! Just—just go on and get out of here, will you? Let me—let me…” She stared at him in dismay, then took a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wanted to make this easy, but—”
“Crista…”
She shook her head wildly, hating herself for such a pathetic show of weakness, hating him for the pity she saw in his eyes.
“Please, Grant. Don’t say anything. Just—just go.”
He hesitated, but finally he did as she’d asked. As soon as the door closed, she groaned and flung herself across the bed.
What had made her behave like such an awful fool? So she’d slept with Grant. So what? The world was filled with women who slept with men; one night together didn’t mean—didn’t mean—
The door banged open.
“Dammit to hell,” Grant roared.
Crista rolled over and sat up, clutching the sheet to her chin.
“Grant, what’s the matter? Is it the roof? The seawall? Is it—”
He came down on the bed beside her, gathered her close in his arms, and kissed her long and hard. She resisted at first but then, with a sob, she threw her arms around him and gave herself up to the kiss.
It was Grant who ended it, drawing back and framing her tearstained face in his hands.
“It’s bad enough that I’m a liar,” he said gruffly, “saying that making love with you was terrific when it was so much more than that, when it was like nothing I’ve ever known. But to go on and behave like a complete fool…” He paused and took a breath. “I don’t want to go back to New York, Crista. I want to stay here and make love under the heat of the sun, swim in the moonlight…”
A smile trembled on her lips. “Do you mean it?”
“And when we get back to New York, you won’t need Sam to look out for you because you’ll have me.”
“Oh, Grant—” A shrill bark made them both start. Crista wiped her eyes and laughed. “The puppy! I forgot all about—”
“Yeah.” Grant sighed and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I suppose we’d better see what it wants.”
“What she wants.” Crista smiled. “And that’s easy to figure out. She wants a meal, a walk, and a scratch behind the ears.”
Grant smiled, too, but as he watched Crista hurry off to tend to the dog, his smile faded.
Moments ago, he’d come bursting back into the room, filled with the knowledge that he could not let Crista walk out of his life.
The puppy barked again, and he sighed.
The dog knew what it wanted—but what did he want, Grant wondered, of himself and of Crista? If only it were as simple to figure that out…
Lord, if only it were.
CHAPTER TEN
THE sun was hot, the sky was the color of sapphires, and the sand glinted as if it had been shot through with diamonds. Crista and Grant came pounding toward the house side by side, the puppy racing after them at the end of an improvised rope leash.
“I win,” Grant yelled.
“No, you don’t!” Crista gave a wild whoop, clipped him with an elbow—and then the puppy darted between them and they both went down in a heap.
Grant gave a dramatic groan and flopped onto his back, his eyes shut.
“No fair,” he said. “You bribed the dog so it would do that.”
Crista rolled onto her belly and lay spread-eagled in the sand.
“Why would I resort to bribery?” she panted. “I was winning.”
“Impossible.” Grant opened one eye and looked at her. “I’m the best, and I’ve got a drawer full of medals at home to prove it.”
“Yeah, yeah. The bigger they talk, the harder they fall.”
She shrieked as he caught her in his arms and rolled her beneath him.
“Watch the way you talk to me, madam, or I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
“Promises,” Crista said, rolling her eyes. “All the man makes are prom—”
Grant silenced her with a long, deep kiss.
“When was the last time I told you how beautiful you are?” he whispered when the kiss ended.
“Probably the last time I told you how beautiful you are.”
He laughed. “Men aren’t beautiful.”
“Says who?”
“Says—hey!” Grant laughed as the puppy began tugging at his shorts and growling. “What’s with you, monster?”
Crista smiled. “She wants to play.”
“Okay, pal.” Grant scrambled to his feet and the puppy yipped with joy. “You wanna play rough? We’ll play rough!”
Smiling, Crista watched as man and dog settled into a fierce game of feint and run, and then, slowly, her smile faded away.
The past days had been so wonderful—it was hard to think that they’d be back in New York tomorrow evening. But there was no choice. Grant had already put off a week’s worth of appointments.
She sighed and flung her arm over her eyes. Returning to New York was something that had been bound to happen eventually. It was just that she had an awful feeling that nothing would ever be the same once they were back in the real world.
Palm Beach, after all, was not reality. It was magic. It was where she’d discovered passion, and happiness, and Grant.
Grant, she thought with a little sigh. What a complex man he was. He could make friends with the puppy by getting down on his knees in a game of mock combat as easily as he could bring to heel a sommelier brandishing a wine list whose primary function in life was surely intimidation. He was, by turns, funny and warm and wise…
He was, in other words, the man she’d sensed him to be all along—and the man she’d fallen in love with.
Crista sighed, rose to her feet, and made her way slowly into the house. It was cool and dark after the bright, sunlit beach; she shivered slightly as she climbed the steps to the bedroom she and Grant shared and pau
sed in the doorway. There was something about seeing the bed that put a lump in her throat. They had shared so many nights there together and now—now, it was all coming to an end.
No! Why did she keep thinking things like that? They were going back to New York tomorrow, that was all. Nothing else would change, she reminded herself as she took off her bathing suit and stepped into the shower. Grant wanted her to be with him, he’d talked about the places they’d go in the city and the things they’d see…
But he’d never said he loved her, that he could not imagine a future without her as she could not imagine one without him…
She gasped as the door to the shower stall opened.
“Excuse me, madam,” Grant said politely. “I was wondering if you’d mind practicing water conservation and sharing that shower with me.”
Crista laughed and thought how glad she was that the water would hide the dampness that glittered in her eyes.
“I don’t know, sir,” she said. “I’m not sure there’s room for two.”
He stepped under the spray and took her in his arms. His body was hot from the sun, hard with masculine power, and she felt herself quicken when he touched her.
I love you, Grant, she thought.
And then she couldn’t think anything at all.
Grant watched as Crista puttered around the kitchen. She was barefoot, dressed in shorts and a cotton shirt. Her hair was a dark plume that tumbled down her back, her forehead was red, and she had a gob of white zinc oxide on her nose.
He smiled. In other words, she was gorgeous. And she was his.
He had never known a woman like her, a creature of ardor, fervor, and pure emotion. The other morning, he’d found her sitting on the floor with the puppy in her arms, sobbing. And when he’d come down quickly beside her and asked her why, she’d said, laughing and crying at the same time, that it was because she’d just thought again of how the little dog might have died.
And then there was last night, when he’d asked her how she liked the vintage burgundy he’d chosen for their dinner, and she’d laughed and said, well, it tasted better than the jug wine she was used to—but not by much.