Donovans 01 - Amber Beach

you.”
    “It’s not your fault. No matter what I’m doing, underneath it all I’m still worried about Kyle,” she admitted.
    “Understandable. Sit down and eat. Or are you too jumpy?”
    “No worse than breakfast or lunch.” She smiled wryly and sat. “I’m afraid I’m not one of those women who become artfully thin from worrying. Just the opposite.”
    “So what’s the problem? You could use a few more pounds.”
    “Bite your tongue.”
    “I’d rather bite your salmon.”
    Honor assured herself she had imagined a slight hesitation before Jake said “salmon.” Then she reached for the delectable pink fish and told herself to quit hoping. It was pretty clear after the long day on the boat that he wasn’t going to do anything about the prowling sexual tension that had grown between them. Though he obviously was a healthy male fully capable of getting an erection, he just as obviously wasn’t going to pursue it. Or her.
    Maybe he felt the same way she did about sex. About as exciting as cleaning the toilet.
    Depressing thought.
    Jake noticed that Honor hadn’t started eating. “No appetite after all?”
    Rather than answer, she forked in a bite of salmon. A moment later she made a throaty sound of surprise and delight.
    “Like it?” he asked.
    “Orgasmic.”
    His eyebrows climbed. “That good, huh?”
    “Better.”
    “Nothing’s better.”
    Since orgasm was just a word to her, Honor decided not to argue the point. She tucked another bite into her mouth and savored the salmon. She didn’t say another thing until she had eaten two servings of the fish and cleaned up her share of the salad and pesto. Then she settled back in her chair with a sigh of pleasure.
    “You should open a restaurant,” she said, covering a yawn.
    “You did the salad and pesto. Is your pesto recipe a Donovan family secret? I’ve been buying mine and it’s not half as good.”
    “Nope. My pesto recipe is the result of years of selfless sacrifice in the hope of a better future for all mankind.”
    “They don’t hand out a Nobel for pesto.”
    “Next thing you’ll tell me there isn’t a Santa Claus.”
    “Now that you mention—”
    “I’m crushed,” she interrupted, “just crushed. Anyway, the pesto was nothing compared to the fish,” she added with a wave of her hand that ended up covering another yawn.
    Jake stood up and began clearing the table.
    “I’ll take care of it,” she said, yawning again.
    “You’ll fall asleep first.”
    “Your point?” she muttered.
    “Go to bed. Tomorrow is already racing across Europe toward you.”
    “What an awful thought.”
    He laughed and ruffled her hair casually as he passed by her chair. “Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”
    For an instant Honor considered biting him. Hard.
    Instead, she decided to get even by taking him up on his offer. “Okay. Thanks.”
    Breath held, Jake watched Honor walk to the tiny bathroom that was just off the bedroom. For a second there, he had been sure she was going to sink her neat little teeth into his hand. He didn’t know what he would have done next, but he had no doubt about the ultimate outcome—the two of them locked in the kind of sweaty, hand-to-hand combat that had no losers.
    Cursing silently, he finished the dishes, scrubbing them hard enough to leave ruts in the shiny surface.
    The door to the bathroom opened. From the corner of his eye he saw the flash of color that was Honor as she went from the bathroom to the bedroom. The door didn’t quite shut behind her.
    When Jake finished cleaning up, he let himself out of the cottage. The door locked automatically behind him. The metal sound was cool and final. He walked down the gravel path to the dock. Every step of the way he congratulated himself on what a fine, honorable, noble, dumb son of a bitch he was, going off alone to a cold bed.

12
    I T WAS STILL dark when Honor was startled awake. Her alarm clock wasn’t screaming at her, but her instincts were.
    She could hear the scratching sounds from the living room with terrible clarity. It sounded like someone was fumbling a key into the front door lock. Her heartbeat speeded. Kyle?
    But if it wasn’t . . .
    She realized suddenly that she hadn’t shot the bolt before she fell asleep.
    The vague scratching sounds continued. A chill prickled over her skin. She had a sickening feeling that it wasn’t her brother out there trying to get in.
    Part of her wanted to pull the covers over her head and pretend