“Sorry about the way I went about it, but you just wouldn’t listen when Connie or I tried to explain reasonably,” Summer answered, straightening the red Mexican gauze sundress she’d donned over her swimsuit as she offered a tentative truce with her tone.
Derek slowly shook his head. “You made me furious,” he told her softly.
She smiled faintly, still a little shell-shocked from his expression of that fury. “I know. Now you know how Connie feels when you start telling her how she ought to live and offering unwanted assistance.”
For only a moment an expression of pain crossed Derek’s tanned face. He turned to look out over the distant landscape, but not before Summer had seen the emotion and recognized it. She wondered if anyone else woul
d have seen it, or whether she had become so attuned to Derek’s feelings that she was almost psychic where he was concerned. She was unaware that her thoughts closely echoed the questions he had asked himself earlier about his ability to read her. Pushing her fanciful thoughts aside, she stepped closer to him and rested a small hand on his rigid arm. “Derek, it’s not too late. You and Connie can still be friends, if you’d just give each other a chance. You have to accept her as she is, and she needs to learn that you’re not really a humorless stuffed shirt.”
He shot her a quick glance. “You don’t think I am?”
“No,” she answered ruefully, her most charming smile curving her unpainted mouth. “I think you’re a pretty nice guy, actually. I mean, you are a stuffed shirt, but you’re not a completely humorless stuffed shirt.”
He chuckled—he actually chuckled! she thought in wonder—and then forgot to be pleased when he reached for her.
“Summer.”
She stepped back so hastily that she had to clutch at the railing to maintain her precarious balance. “No, Derek. No more of that. Whatever attraction the two of us might feel for each other could only lead to homicide. Possibly double homicide. I think we’d better stick to being friends.”
Her logical little speech did not seem to accomplish the purpose she had intended. Derek’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully behind his glasses. “You’re attracted to me?” he asked with apparent intrigue.
She gulped and attempted an answer. “Well, yes, but—No, don’t!” She wasn’t quite quick enough this time to evade his reaching hands. She found herself plastered against his broad chest. “Oh, Derek, this isn’t wise.” She sighed, even as her head tilted back to welcome his kiss.
“No,” he breathed against her moist, parted lips. “Not wise at all.” And then his mouth covered hers.
This time the kiss was anything but punishing. In fact, Summer wondered dazedly if she were being rewarded for doing something wonderful. If kisses could be bronzed and hung on a wall for posterity, this one should be.
She lifted her arms and curled them around his neck, her fingers seeking the short hair at the nape of his neck. His hair felt so soft, so thick, his body so solid, so hard against hers. And growing harder.
“Oh, God, Summer,” he groaned, slanting his head only to kiss her from a new angle. He slid his hands under the curves of her bottom, lifting her into his pelvis to show her quite graphically that the kiss was as powerful for him as it was for her. Summer could only moan softly and press closer. Her swimsuit and thin dress became unwanted barriers between them, as were his T-shirt and swim trunks. The warmth that penetrated their clothing taunted her, making her want even more.
When the second knee-melting kiss ended, Summer somehow found the strength to break away from him. Or maybe he’d decided to release her. Whatever it was, she stood panting for breath and staring at him in a kind of awed wariness that twisted his mouth into his infrequent smile. “Don’t look at me like that, Summer,” he ordered indulgently. “I was only teaching you an object lesson.”
“An… an object lesson?” she asked in a breathless voice that showed an annoying tendency to squeak. “What object lesson?” she demanded, bringing her voice sternly under control.
He crossed his arms across his wide chest, looking rather pleased with himself, and leaned against the railing. “That people who teach object lessons sometimes get unexpected results,” he replied quietly.
Summer blew her bangs out of her eyes and doubled her fists on her slender hips. “Look, Derek Anderson, if you and I are going to be friends—and I have serious doubts about whether that’s possible—we’re going to have to get something straight right now. I am not looking for an amusing toy to keep me entertained. I have no intention of getting involved with any man at this time, and especially not a proper, respectable businessman like you, even if you are an Olympic-class kisser. So let’s forget this ever happened and make sure that it never happens again. Agreed?”
“Olympic-class, huh?” Derek looked disgustingly pleased with her ill-chosen adjective.
She sighed. “We were discussing your sister,” she reminded him archly.
“So we were,” he agreed, obviously deciding to allow her to lead the conversation—for now. “Let’s carry these dishes inside and we can continue this discussion—about Connie—in the den.”
5
“ABOUT CONNIE,” Summer began when she and Derek had settled down with drinks in the den. She felt the need to say something since he continued to look at her in a way that made her rather nervous—as if he were ready for dessert and she were it.
“Yes?”
“D’you really think you’ll be able to be her friend?”
“I can only try. Actually, I had an idea for a peace offering.”
“Really? What?”
“I’m having a small cocktail party here next Saturday evening, one of those obligatory functions for my clients and potential clients. Do you think Connie would like to serve as my hostess?”