Sanctuary

you.”
    “Well, that’s a load off my mind.”
    She took a bite of a strawberry, and the taste was so sweet and unexpectedly bright, she smiled. “I guess I’m a little out of sorts this morning.”
    “Are you?” He gripped her toes, worked them gently back and forth. “I hadn’t noticed.”
    “Which is your sly Yankee way of saying I’m always bitchy.”
    “Not always. And I think the word I’d have chosen would have been ‘troubled.’ ”
    “A Hathaway legacy.” Because the strawberries had stirred an appetite, she picked up a slice of bacon and bit in. “We had a family brawl last night, which was why Lexy was in bed with her head under the covers and I was waiting tables.”
    “Do you always pick up the slack?”
    Surprised, she shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t say I pick up much of anything. I’m rarely here.”
    “And when you are, you’re waiting tables, changing linen, scrubbing toilets.”
    “How did you hear about that?”
    Her voice had gone sharp, puzzling him. “You told me. You were on housecleaning detail here at the inn.”
    “Oh, that.” Feeling foolish, she reached for the biscuit, broke it in half.
    “What else?”
    “Nothing.” She jerked a shoulder. “Just some kids playing a prank a couple of days ago. They locked me in the men’s showers over at the campground. I got a little freaked.”
    “That’s not funny.”
    “No, at the time I didn’t find it amusing.”
    “Did you catch them?”
    “No, they were long gone by the time my father came along and got me out. It wasn’t a big deal, just annoying.”
    “So we can add cleaning the men’s showers to the list of slack you don’t pick up. And in between all that, you’re putting a photography book together and finding time to work on new pictures. What about fun?”
    “Photography is fun for me.” When he only lifted a brow, she sampled another strawberry. “I went to the bonfire.”
    “And stayed till nearly midnight. You wild woman.”
    The line formed between her brows. “I’m not much on parties.”
    “What are you much on besides photography? Books, movies, art, music? This is called the science of getting to know each other,” he told her when she said nothing. “It’s very handy, especially when one person is thinking about sleeping with the other.” He leaned forward, amused when she edged back. “Are you going to share any of those strawberries?”
    Jo ordered her pulse to level, and because he was still rubbing her feet, fed him a berry.
    He caught the tips of her fingers in his teeth, sucked them in as well. Smiling slowly, he released them. “That’s subliminal sensory stimulation. Or what’s more commonly known as I’m coming on to you.”
    “I think I got that.”
    “Good. Now, movies?”
    She tried to think if there was another man who had ever disconcerted her so easily or so often. The answer was a solid no. “I lean to the old black-and-white, especially film noir. The cinematography, the light and shadows are so incredible.”
    “ The Maltese Falcon ?”
    “The best of the best.”
    “Look at that.” He patted her foot. “Common ground. What about contemporary stuff?”
    “There I head for straight action. Art films rarely grab me. I’d rather see Schwarzenegger mow down fifty bad guys than listen to a handful of people expressing their angst in a foreign language.”
    “This is a big relief for me. We could never have settled down to raise five children and golden retrievers if I’d had to face art films.”
    It made her laugh, a low, smoky sound he found ridiculously arousing. “If those are my choices, I may reconsider subtitles.”
    “Your favorite city, anywhere.”
    “Florence,” she said before she’d known it was true. “That bright wash of sunlight, the colors.”
    “The buildings. The age and grandeur of them. The Pitti Palace, the Palazzo Vecchio.”
    “I have a wonderful shot of the Pitti, just before sunset.”
    “I’d love to see it.”
    “I didn’t bring it with me,” she said absently, remembering the moment, the slant of light, the quick whoosh of air and noise as a flock of pigeons rose in a wave. “It’s back in Charlotte.”
    “I can wait.” Before she had a chance to react, he squeezed her foot. “So, when you’ve finished breakfast, how about taking me on a real tour of the island?”
    “It’s Sunday.”
    “Yeah, I heard a rumor about that.”
    “No, I mean that’s turnover day. Most of the cottages turn over on