Slow Hands

faltered, a chink of uncertainty appearing in her fully armored voice. “I may have been a bit too…hasty when I said I didn’t want to see you again.”
    He should tell her to get lost. To take her money, her ice cave disguised as a home and her really twisted assumptions about him and take a hike.
    He didn’t. Maybe because of that tiny note of uncertainty. Maybe because of the way her hair had looked spread across her pillow in the dawn’s first light the other morning. Or the way those dimples flashed every time she genuinely smiled.
    He could refuse the ice queen.
    But he couldn’t refuse the Maddy he’d made love to. The one who was no longer breathing into the phone, as if her breath had been trapped in her lungs and she was holding it close, waiting for his answer. Uncertain. Unsure.
    Vulnerable.
    “What are you suggesting?”
    “I’d like to get together. To…talk things over. I might have a solution to our situation.”
    “Fine.” She breathed again, audibly. And he smiled a little. “We’ll talk. We definitely have some things to clear up.”
    Starting with the whole ridiculous notion she had that he’d slept with her only because she’d put out a whole bunch of money first.
    Weren’t hookers—male or female—supposed to actually keep the money they earned?
    He almost laughed at the thought, but didn’t. Not while Maddy was still trying to carefully set up a meeting without revealing how anxious she truly was.
    He so did not get the woman. But he would. Very soon.
    “Are you free this afternoon?” she asked.
    “I am.”
    “Wonderful. I, uh…was thinking of taking the boat out. Do you like being on the water?”
    The only time he’d been on a boat had been one of those offshore casino ships during a trip to Florida a few years ago. He’d been seasick and had gotten a headache from the constant dings of the slot machines.
    “Yeah, love it.” Stupid. She’s not going to let her guard down if you’re heaving over the side.
    But it was too late. He’d already agreed, and quickly made a note of the location of the boat, docked at the DuSable Harbor marina. He had an hour to get there. Then he’d find out exactly what kind of solution Ms. Madeline Turner had for their situation .
    Jake had one, too. A three-pronged one.
    Him telling her she was an idiot to think her money had anything to do with his feelings for her. Her shutting up and believing it. And them getting naked.
    Sounded like a great solution to him.

8
    M ADDY HAD ALREADY BEEN aboard the Magdalena when she called Jake on Saturday. The decision to ask him to come with her this afternoon had been an impromptu one. Well, mostly.
    She’d intended to call him, having thought all night about her sister’s suggestion. At the very least, she wanted to feel him out about the possibility of working “exclusively” for her.
    But she hadn’t intended to take him out on the water. That had been spontaneous. And also a little sneaky.
    It wouldn’t be easy for him to laugh in her face and walk away at the very idea if they were a few miles from shore. Not unless he was a really good swimmer.
    “My God, I’m turning into my sister,” she whispered, knowing Tabitha would approve of the manipulative tactics.
    She’d probably also approve of Maddy’s attire. Though she hadn’t dressed with Jake in mind when she’d made the decision to take the boat out today, she wore a devastatingly skimpy fire-engine red bikini beneath her shorts and tank top.
    She usually took the cutter out alone, despite her father’s frequent protests. But she was able to handle herself on the lake. And when out there alone, she liked to sunbathe without wearing even as much as that skimpy little bathing suit.
    How much fun would it be to do it with someone else?
    She’d readied the sails and finished preparations when she saw him walking up the dock toward her. Waving, she called, “I see you found it okay.”
    “Uh-huh.” He gestured toward the side, where Magdalena was lovingly painted in large, script letters. “I like the name.”
    “My mother’s,” she murmured.
    Jake nodded, making no weak, inane, “I’m sorry for your loss” comment like so many people made when they learned she’d lost her mother at such a young age. She liked that about him. One of many things she liked about him.
    He looked over the cutter again, from the cabin up to the top of the mast, obviously taken aback by its size. “Do I have to ask for permission to