What the Waves Bring by Barbara Delinsky Read Free Book Online Page A

returned his kiss, welcoming his tongue with her own, clinging to him as he had clung to that fragment of wood on which he’d first floated to shore.

    It was this darting allusion to reality that kept her from surrendering to the depths. Gasping, she turned her head aside, appalled to find her arms around his neck, continuing to hold him as her knees found their strength. The thunder of his heart by her ear was small solace for her lapse.
    â€œThat shouldn’t have happened,” she whispered hoarsely.
    â€œI’m very glad it did, April,” he contradicted, his arms now about her waist, holding her close. “We’ll never make it through this unless we can be honest with one another.” His voice was a gentle croon, by her ear, his breath fanned the hair by her cheek. “I find you very appealing, and I believe, unless you’d like to deny your response just now, that the feeling is mutual.”
    Mortification brought April’s head more deeply against his chest, as she burrowed in a vain attempt to escape the facts. Much as she wished it, she couldn’t deny his claim. Even the smell of him, healthy, musky, and male, tempted her senses. When she pushed herself away defensively, he let her go, mindful of her inner war.
    â€œCome, April.” He took her hand, startling her with his abruptly eased tone. “Let me fix you some lunch. Then, we’ll go to work in the other room, while you tell me more about yourself and”—his eye flipped toward the corner—“that machine.”
    â€œMy Apple?” Her shaped brows lifted in surprise, then knit as quickly in puzzlement. “What work in the other room?”
    â€œIt looked to me,” he said, grinning disarmingly, “that you’re in the middle of a project. Stripping the walls of that, uh, charming wallpaper?”
    â€œOh, that.” She returned his grin. “Wasn’t it awful? Say, are you an expert in renovations?” The words were no sooner out than she caught herself. “I’m sorry …”

    The man before her took a deep breath, raising his gaze to focus on some distant mind-point for a fleeting moment before looking down at her. “Don’t apologize, April. I may well have been a handyman—” He stopped, noting her vigorous headshake. “Why not?” His dark brow furrowed.
    â€œNo calluses. I looked for that.”
    He was mildly amused, the corner of his firm lips quirking upward. “What else did you decide?”
    As April reported her observations, he listened raptly. “ … and the labels on your clothes tell us nothing, except they are of good quality.” It seemed suddenly a game, a route to mental survival, one that might salvage an otherwise awkward moment. In this spirit, she examined the monogram of his shirt. “H.E.A.”
    The subject of her speculation drew himself up, feet firmly planted, hands hugging his hips. “Well … ? Any suggestions?”
    April’s gaze flicked to the window. The outer pane was still saturated with rain, lending an impressionistic sheen to all without. “Come here.” She motioned enthusiastically, the thought dawning sweetly. Her hand reached for his arm as she drew him to the window. “Look out there—at those small bushes, the low-growing ones on the moor. Do you see?”
    â€œUh-huh.” He spotted them dutifully, then lowered his gaze to her teasing eyes.
    â€œThose are heath plants. Rugged. Resilient. Strong. They’ve survived the elements of this island for hundreds of years.” With a nod of utter satisfaction, she grinned. “I’ll call you Heath!”
    â€œHeath …” he said, sampling the name. “Heath. Not bad—”
    â€œNot bad? It’s perfect!” April interrupted buoyantly. “And it’s as close to H.E.A. as we’re bound to get!” For an instant, she held her breath, mindful that the