Half Moon Harbor by Donna Kauffman Read Free Book Online Page B

“Not part of my skill set. ’Twas a local, a new local.” His gaze darted to the open area below, and she caught a brief, wistful look that she’d have missed if she hadn’t been staring at him. Like a besotted idiot.
    â€œSame local who did the renovation?”
    He blinked, looked back to her, and nodded once, the wistful moment gone, but her curiosity over who had engendered that reaction from him lingered. She wondered if the recipient knew of his interest. Wistful meant unfulfilled, or no longer fulfilling. Hmmm . . . “What’s her name?”
    â€œAlex MacFarland,” he said almost absently, then instantly sharpened up, and she knew he regretted giving her the information.
    Why, she wasn’t entirely sure. Presumably because he didn’t want to give her any help with her renovation, but it could be more than that. In fact, she’d bet it was.
    â€œHow did you know it was—”
    â€œA woman?” she finished for him. Because I’m not blind. And because I wish a man would look all wistful like that when he thought about me. “Good guess.” She glanced down at the lower level. “If she designed this, she’s more than a little talented. Multifaceted.”
    â€œShe restores lighthouses. By trade. Comes from a long line who’ve done the same. So she’s used to thinking outside the box.”
    A woman with her own proud heritage. Figures . He’d understand and appreciate that quality more than most, so of course he’d been drawn to it. That he’d been so quick to mention it said as much. She nodded, and, glancing back at him, noticed that while his praise was sincere, his expression was carefully professional now. She wouldn’t have thought he’d have that kind of cool reserve in him. She’d have bet he tossed his charm around so effortlessly and often that a professional façade would be an unnecessary addition to his arsenal. Although in his line of work, he likely dealt mostly with men. Men who probably secretly wished they were him, while not-so-secretly making sure they kept their women away from him. And not necessarily because they distrusted Brodie.
    â€œHave you started any projects yet? Boats, I mean?” she asked, changing topics, though she doubted she’d forget that wistful look anytime soon. Perversely, discovering his heart had even come close to being compromised, when she’d have bet her most challenging estate probate that he was a woman-of-the-moment, love-’em-and-leave-’emsighing kind of guy, only served to make her tingly parts that much more, well . . . tingly. Danger, danger, Grace Maddox.
    â€œGrab a quick rinse and meet me below,” he said by way of response. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
    That lilting edge of command in his tone, paired with that almost taunting promise, had her imagining all sorts of ways he could convince her to tell him whatever he wanted to know. Hell, she might have signed the boathouse back over to him. And she couldn’t have rightly said that she’d have even minded if that was the kind of persuasion he was looking to employ in the effort.
    If, you know, she didn’t reek of dead fish.
    â€œRight.” She made a gesture to the door behind her. “I’ll—just let me—then we’ll talk,” she managed. Cheeks hot and nipples hard, she escaped behind the bathroom door, then leaned back against it, feeling like the complete and utter idiot that she was. So cool as he thought wistfully about another woman, so calm as she so casually changed the subject. See how worldly I am? How unaffected?
    She snorted. “Right. You couldn’t be more affected.” She nearly jumped out of her skin when a sharp knock came on the other side of the door. Pressing a fist to her pounding heart, she turned around, but didn’t open it. “Yes?”
    â€œYou’ll need