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Chapter Four

   SHE had the toast buttered, co􀀙ee freshly brewed when Blake appeared in the kitchen on the stroke of seven. She just knew he’d be one of

those super-punctual people. Always on time. Ruthlessly organised. Socks always paired and rolled together. How did he live with himself?

The only reason she was ahead this morning was because she’d been too wound up after their recent rendezvous in the living room to relax.

She’d spent the time familiarising herself with the spectacular wood-panelled kitchen and every modern appliance known to man.

She’d psyched herself up for seeing him but the 􀀭rst glimpse still packed a punch as he walked to the kitchen table, leaving her breathless

and feeling as if she’d run a cross-country marathon. He’d changed into a khaki T-shirt with some sort of blood and tar design all over the front

but he still wore the same kind of snug-fitting jeans he’d had on last night.

He seemed more relaxed. His eyes weren’t the haunted ones she’d glimpsed last night, even though they were still somewhat aloof, but, hey,

this was Blake Everett and aloof was his trademark. Whatever his demons last night, he’d apparently shrugged them o􀀙. He’d showered and

smelled as fresh as the new day.

Yes, a new day, she thought. Best to pretend last night never happened.

‘Good morning.’ Her smile was automatic, unlike his stern expression, as she lifted the co􀀙ee plunger and concentrated on pouring a mug

without spilling it all over her hand. ‘Coffee?’

He set a couple of those sailing brochures she’d seen on the table. ‘Never touch the stu􀀙. But thanks,’ he added in what sounded like an

afterthought.

His gravelly morning voice did strange things to her insides as he moved to the cupboard, pulled out an unopened box of Earl Grey tea. Real

leaves, not the tea-bag kind. She watched him reach for a teapot on the bench, dump in a large fistful of leaves.

‘Kettle’s just boiled,’ she said, wanting to be helpful and desperate to break the awkward silence that seemed to crowd in on them. She

should have stayed right away last night. Stuck her head under the pillow or something.

‘Not a morning person?’ she said, briskly. He shot her a glance as he poured water into the pot. ‘That’s okay, I am. So that kind of balances

it out, wouldn’t you agree?’

He lifted a brow. ‘I’m up at five a.m., rain or shine, how about you?’

Oh. She stared at him a moment. ‘I’ve been known to drift home around that time.’

That earned her a look and she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. ‘On weekends. Some weekends. As a matter of fact, if you’re free, there’s

a party tonight down on the beach …’ She trailed off as his jaw tightened. ‘Maybe not.’

And not for her either. She studied him as she sipped her co􀀙ee. No, she wouldn’t imagine he’d 􀀭t in with the party scene. She needed to

forget her teenage crush, pull herself together and remember that he wanted her boat. ‘How does the damage look this morning?’

‘Haven’t checked it out yet.’ He poured his tea, already thick and black as molasses, and added two sugars, then took a seat opposite her at