Page 32 of Tangled Memories

Maybe he’d had a date.

Of course.

The thought was oddly disturbing, but she clutched at it to keep her interest at bay.

She opened her eyes and groped for her pen. Her heart gave a tiny lurch. There was Tyler, sitting balanced on the railing that surrounded the deck. The next thing she noticed was that beneath his strong, broad forehead, his eyebrows yoked bloodshot eyes, and his cheeks were unshaven.

“What were you thinking about?” he asked. “You had an almost beatific smile.”

“Am I smiling now?”

“Decidedly not.”

“Well, now I’m thinking about you.”

“Oh?”

“You look awful.”

“Want to know why?”

She realized she wanted to know everything about him. Where he was born. Who his friends were. How he had lived up until the very moment he had stepped into her life.

But all she said was, “Not particularly.”

“Could we go inside, out of this sun? The glare off the sand is blinding me.”

“Put on your sunglasses.”

“Lost ’em somewhere.”

Stormy stood and walked inside, and Tyler followed her to the breakfast alcove.

“You look…content,” he said from behind her. “You even have a pep in your step; rather, you seem to be walking with a new sense of purposefulness. Anything I should know?”

Clearly, he was sensing that she had been able to unearth the stolen money. Instead of trying to defend herself, Stormy ambushed him with a smile. “I was thinking about having a second cup of coffee. You look like you could use a cup.”

“Coffee would be nice.” Then he said, “The house is quiet.”

“Nina and Tully are out for the day.” She lifted the percolator, discovered it empty. “I’ll have to make a fresh pot.” Perked coffee. All she had in prison was instant. Horrible stuff. Just the aroma of the good rich grounds made her feel good.

“I have time.”

She felt Tyler inspecting her as she worked at the counter. Not knowing she would be entertaining company, she’d dressed casually in a snug T-shirt and shorts that were much too short to wear in public.

Stormy ignored the urge to change and inserted the coffee filter, measuring out the rich, dark grounds.

“I know it’s ludicrous to even ask this,” he threw out casually, “but had we met under different circumstances, don’t you think we might’ve been receptive to each other?”

Stormy took down a mug and blindly fastened her eyes on its empty depths. “What difference does it make? We’re adversaries.”

“Maybe not.”

They regarded each other in a complicated silence. The chemistry was there, vibrating and alive, and she became aware that whatever their peculiar relationship, it was accelerating.

“Have you decided I don’t have the money?”

He crossed the room to her and braced his hands on either side of her on the counter. Their faces were only inches apart, his green eyes dark and probing, as if he, too, were trying to read the message in those few moments of silence.