how on earth would she ever design him a house if he refused to go with her to the island? If he left her to her own devices, he’d get something ultramodern like the house she’d designed for Yoshi Akiyama.
Yoshi was one of his investment clients, and his new beach house was amazing. The technology was cutting-edge, and it had been built out of recycled and locally sourced, sustainable materials. But it was also avant-garde and looked a great deal like a bird taking to flight.
Topher didn’t want an ultramodern house. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure exactly what he did want. Just a place to escape to. Beyond that he had nothing.
He checked his watch again and rolled his neck, easing the tension. If he was scrupulously honest, he’d admit the truth. He was dreading the moment when Jessica Blackwood would give him the stare. She’d focus over his right shoulder and avoid eye contact. No matter how many times it happened, he’d never get used to the fact that people found his newly rearranged face disgusting and disturbing.
He checked his watch yet again, like someone with a compulsion. Anxiety clutched at him. Maybe he should call her and—
He looked up from his Rolex and caught sight of Jessica coming down the boardwalk. She was wearing a pair of sensible army-green camp pants, a plain white T-shirt that molded to her slender form, and a pair of boat shoes. With an Atlanta Braves baseball cap on her head, she looked like the epitome of the plucky girl next door. The one least likely to end up in trouble with the town’s most notorious bad boy.
As she approached, memories tumbled into place. Damn. He remembered now. She’d been a lifeguard one year at the yacht club pool. She’d even saved a kid who’d hit his head on the diving board.
She hadn’t been his type at all, and yet he remembered that summer, finding her attractive in spite of the fact that she wasn’t stacked or blonde, but because of her heroism that day, hauling that kid out of the pool and giving him mouth-to-mouth until he coughed up a bunch of water.
He’d become fascinated with her for a time—enough to wonder why she hung out with Colton St. Pierre. He vaguely remembered telling her that Colton was bad news.
And he’d been right about that. Colton had ended up in jail. And Jessica had been sent away. Well, everyone made mistakes. Clearly, she’d straightened her life out.
And she still wasn’t his type. But then, no woman in her right mind wanted him now, except maybe for his money. He certainly had enough to buy companionship. But who the hell wanted that?
As she approached, he swiveled on the captain’s chair, the morning sun hot against his scarred face, a trickle of sweat inching down his back between his shoulder blades. He braced for the stare, but she was wearing sunglasses.
He didn’t know whether to curse or praise God. Being not very religious and consigned to a body that no longer worked right, he chose not to thank God.
“Good morning,” she said in a falsely bright voice that conveyed her disgust. Damn those sunglasses—he would bet his fortune that she was looking over his shoulder. He turned his head to the left so she would only have to see his good side.
“You’re late,” he growled.
“I’m sorry, but it was a long—”
“Untie the mooring lines,” he interrupted. He hoped to hell she knew what that meant because he’d be damned if he had to do it himself. Climbing up to the dock and back would hurt. And, of course, it would display his weakness.
She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “I’m not your crew, you know.”
Great. She didn’t know what a mooring line was. “Fine. I’ll do it—”
“No. All you have to do is ask nicely,” she said with another big, phony smile.
“Please,” he muttered, semi-embarrassed. What the hell? He didn’t want to scare this architect away. She was the only one who hadn’t laughed at him when he’d said the words “Lookout Island.”
She dropped her big tote into the cockpit and scampered down the dock to the big cleat where the mooring line was tied. She moved like a sprite, light on her feet. She was fun to watch.
Clearly she knew something about sailboats because she handled the mooring lines like a pro and even hopped from the pier to the gunwales without looking intimidated or out of