A Woman's Heart by Gael Morrison Read Free Book Online Page B

investigated her friends. Claire had hated that.
    Suddenly, Peter faced her, the sun now low on the horizon behind him, making it impossible to read what was in his eyes. Stepping forward, he lowered himself to the blanket.
    Catching her breath and holding it, Jann willed her body small. For if he touched her again, she would tumble into his warmth, and that was not a sensation she could afford to repeat.
    Then his shoulder brushed hers and, as spine-tingling as an electric current, the hairs on her arm sprang up.
    "Besides," Peter continued softly, as though he had never ceased their conversation, as though he had never kissed her, "the sun will be setting in a few minutes. We don't want to miss that."
    Sunset.
    Magic—shared with the right person.
    But she'd never had and couldn't afford to want a person like that in her life, for love wasn't worth the pain that was sure to follow.
    She drew herself up stiffly. "Alex will be awake before sunset."
    "Then he'll enjoy it with us."
    She stole a glance sideways. The light of the lowering sun reflected off Peter's eyes, concealing all expression, filling them with mystery.
    "Besides," he added, smiling at her faintly, "I didn't come all the way to Sunset Beach to miss the sunset."
    A knot formed in Jann's stomach, and she turned away, but she sensed before she actually felt his fingers gripping her chin.
    "Forget the kiss," he ordered, gently turning her head to face him. "Concentrate on the sunset."
    How could she concentrate on anything when her jaw trembled against the rough-smooth texture of his fingers?
    "Cold?" he murmured. Not waiting for her reply, he pulled off his sweater and laid it across her shoulders.
    It hung heavy, weighing her down, the warmth of his body still captured within. It heated her throughout, but was in some way too familiar, as though Peter himself was the one who held her. Easing the sweater off, she let it drop to the blanket. If Peter noticed her action, he didn't let on.
    "Look," he whispered instead, pointing out to sea.
    The sun was a ball of flame, flung as if by some giant to the distant horizon while overhead the sky was pink, deepening to magenta in places, then to violet, even purple, tone layering tone in a cacophony of color.
    Peter sprawled lower, seeming as relaxed beside her as she was tense. If she could simply ignore him, not look at him. Blinking hard, she reached for her camera, screwed on a wide-angled lens, and focused it on the skyline.
    Without warning, his fingers covered hers, sending a tingling sensation exploding up her arm.
    "Don't hide behind that camera, Jann."
    "I'm not," she protested hoarsely.
    "That's a lie." Gently, insistently, he pulled on her hand, forcing the camera away from her face. "You're afraid of something," he accused softly, staring intently into her eyes. "I know you are. I can feel it."
    Fear shafted through her.
    "I'll find out," he promised, "whatever it is." He glanced up at the sky, his gaze now holding the same fire as the heaven's light. "Besides," he went on, "you can't capture a sunset with photographs."
    "What do you mean?" she stammered.
    "Look at it."
    It was easier to look at the sky than to look at Peter. She couldn't risk that with this inexplicable heat invading her body.
    "Within seconds," Peter said, "it'll be different. If you look away, you'll miss it." He sounded as certain of this as though it had happened to him.
    The sky was immense and they were nothing, yet it felt as though the man beside her had woven a spell around the three of them, had turned their blanket into a haven. As if they belonged together, and were one with the oncoming night.
    But that was false. She couldn't let him in or he would rip her world apart.
    Only Alex belonged with her, and she with him.
    Somewhere down the beach a ukulele tinkled, then another, and another. Hawaiian voices, so sweet Jann's throat ached, rose up in song.
    The notes soared, then fell, then soared again, twisting and twining in a