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“Yes, living in your home and taking care of it. If I moved I’d be out of a job.”
“So your job in my house is preventing you from fulfilling your dream?”
“Not at all. I’m saving the money so that when I’m ready I can buy it. I’m not nearly there yet, in case you’re worried about your floors going unpolished.” She meant it as a joke, but it came out almost scolding. “It’s just something I’ve always wanted. I grew up in a big house filled with people. My grandmother’s house.” Her Connecticut was very different from the one Sinclair had lived in with his ex-wife Muffy. There were no shady lawns or million-dollar mansions on her street, in one of the grimmer parts of the old industrial city. “My parents and sister still live there. It’s like a trap or something. My sister moved away when she got married and had a child, but now she’s divorced and back there again. My dad’s been on disability for decades and just watches TV all day. He could work if he wanted to, but he’d rather just sit around. My mom, on the other hand, works all day and night just to get out of the house.” She raised a brow. “That’s probably what I’d be doing, too, if I was still there. I want to have my own space where I can do what I like.”
“And that’s your only goal?” Apparently that wasn’t enough for Sinclair Drummond. Which was hardly surprising, given all he’d already achieved in his own life.
“I’m thinking more about my career. I’m planning to take evening classes and learn about running a business. I’d like to be self-employed eventually. Maybe even own a shop. Being a housekeeper isn’t a highly transferrable career in this day and age.” She smiled.
“I suppose it’s not easy to find someone with more houses than they have need of.” He looked as if he was going to smile, but he didn’t. If anything he looked pained. Perhaps he’d been hoping she’d prove herself worthy of him with a grand ambition. He must be cruelly disappointed by her simple aspirations.
“What’s your dream?” She’d never have dared to ask him if they weren’t here tonight, in the silver-edged darkness.
Sinclair hesitated for a moment. Frowned. “I don’t know anymore. I used to want a family life, children, all that, but now I know that’s not for me.”
“How do you know that? You’ve never tried.” Her indignation made her sound abrupt.
“To have a family you have to be married, and my two efforts in that direction have demonstrated that I’m not a suitable husband.”
“Maybe they weren’t suitable wives.” She cocked her chin.
“Not for me, apparently.” He looked out over Long Island Sound. “I won’t make that same mistake again.”
“That seems a real shame. You’re far too young to swear off relationships. Besides, you can easily afford a few more divorces.” Her joke was meant to defuse the tension, but the haunted look he gave her only ratcheted it higher. “Not that you’d ever have another, of course.”
“I guarantee that I won’t. Since I have no intention of getting married again.” He drained his champagne glass and stared out over the dark water. “You should marry.”
“What? Why?” His odd statement shocked her. The idea that he even had any thoughts on the subject made her uneasy.
“You’re nurturing and thoughtful. You’d be a good mother. Someone would be very lucky to have you as a partner.” He glanced at her, then looked away again, as if something on the black-velvet horizon held his attention.
“You make me sound rather dull. Not the kind of person who goes to elegant dances wearing a vintage dress.” She teased him. He was right, of course.
“Not at all, because quite obviously you are the kind of person who lights up the night at an occasion like this.” His gaze swept quietly over her, stirring a flurry of arousal. His eyes lingered on her lips, which twitched involuntarily, still hungry for the kiss they never got.
She really needed to distract herself from wanting to kiss him. Although her body thought it was a good idea, her mind knew better. It would only make her life more complicated. After all, he’d made it clear he didn’t want a relationship with her—or anyone—so where could it lead?
Still, why did he have to have such a sensual mouth? His lips were quite full, with a graceful arch on the top, in tantalizing contrast to the masculine jut of his cheekbones and jaw, and the aristocratic profile of his nose. Frankly, his lips begged to be kissed.
And having kissed him once, she knew just how soft and yet how firm they’d be as she pressed her lips against them.
“So, why don’t you want to marry again?” That line of questioning should kill any hint of romance.
He raised a brow. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Because your marriages failed? I’d imagine that would be off-putting, but it didn’t stop Elizabeth Taylor.” She smiled. “I bet if you found the right person you’d get it right this time.”
I could be that right person.
Her brain spat out the thought entirely against her will. She spat it right back. She was trying to crush her romantic aspirations toward Sinclair, not stoke them.
“Maybe you need to figure out exactly what went wrong. Did you ever do that?” She was pretty darn curious, for sure.
“It’s easy. We wanted different things. My first wife, Muffy …” He hesitated.
Of course she was called Muffy. She probably wore pink twinsets with little whales embroidered on them.
“We were together all through college and did everything together. We got married the summer after graduation, and both of our families were thrilled. We bought a lovely house in Connecticut and I thought we’d live happily ever after. Then she decided she wanted to pursue a doctorate in modern languages at Yale, then she wanted to become a professor, then she wanted to take a position at a university in Peru, and by that point we’d realized we were two different people on entirely different courses and we went our separate ways. She teaches at a university in Argentina. It seemed like she changed into a completely different person after I married her.”
“You never considered moving away with her?”
“No. I have my life here, my business. I don’t want to spend my time traveling around the world.” He looked out over the Sound. “I decided right then that I’d never get serious about someone who’s just starting out in life and has no idea what they want yet. One of the things I liked about Diana was that she had her own established PR business and had built a full life for herself. I was pretty confident she wasn’t going to throw it all away and move to Tibet to join a monastery.” He smiled wryly. “And that was where our problems started.”
“She joined a monastery?” Annie’s eyes widened.
“No. Her life was so full that there was no room for me and my life in it. I didn’t want to fly around the country each weekend going to weddings and parties and visiting friends and clients. If I didn’t do those things, I didn’t see my wife. Still, I was determined to make it work so I let her do her thing while I did mine.” He frowned. “I started to believe that was how successful marriages worked. I didn’t have a very good example to follow. My parents led almost entirely separate lives during my childhood. That’s one of the reasons we have several houses.” He sighed. “But Diana found someone else.”
“Oh.” She knew that already. Her infidelity had been the grounds for the divorce. “I’m sorry.”
“So, you see, I’m too inflexible. I wasn’t willing to live their lives and they weren’t willing to live mine. Maybe I should just get a dog?” He raised an eyebrow, and humor sparkled in his eyes.
“I don’t know. That’s a big commitment. All that walking. And what if you want to go to the beach and he wants to go to the park?” She giggled. There was something strangely intimate in Sinclair trusting her with the story of his failed relationships. She felt closer to him than ever before.
“You’re right. And I travel a lot.”
“You’d have to get your housekeeper to walk it.” She tilted her head. “Housekeepers can handle that kind of responsibility.”
“Sounds like I need a housekeeper more than I need a wife.”
“Lucky thing you already have one.” She sipped her champagne. “And apparently she’s a housekeeper with benefits.” She raised a brow.
Sinclair’s shocked expression made her regret her little jibe. Then his face softened and the look he gave her made her stomach do a somersault. “Which proves, I suppose, that just having a housekeeper isn’t enough.” His voice was gruff, rich with all the emotion he kept buried beneath his chiseled and polished surface.
“You’re a unique individual.” She tried to look arch, like the heroine in a regency novel. Though she wasn’t really sure what arch looked like so she probably didn’t pull it off. “You need a very special housekeeper.” Clearly she was tipsy. Or the dress had once again unleashed a part of her that dared to do things the usual Annie wouldn’t dream of.
“What are you two doing all the way over here?” A voice beckoned to them across the lawn. “Come back to civilization for some oysters.”
“Oysters.” Sinclair laughed. “Just what we need.”
“Aren’t they supposed to be an aphrodisiac?”
“Exactly. Do you and I really need an aphrodisiac?” His gaze lingered on her face long enough to heat her skin.
No. We don’t need one. Desire flashed between them like electric current, and he’d just admitted he could feel it. “I’ve never tried oysters.”
“Never? Then let’s go fix that terrible omission.” He held his arm out for her to take it. A gesture that was formal but breathtakingly intimate at the same time. When she slid her arm through his, she could swear she felt the heat of him through his elegant suit, though maybe she imagined it. She was so overstimulated by his presence that she couldn’t trust her senses anymore. She knew that a muscled body, capable of passion and abandon no one here would have expected, lay beneath his formal attire. Did anyone here imagine what had gone on between them?
Couples strolled on the lawn and the terrace, arm in arm like them, laughing. Everyone seemed to be paired up, but that was the theme of the party. Caterers in black-and-white uniforms moved among them, brandishing silver platters piled high with oyster shells. Tables for two had sprung up all over the lawn like mushrooms after a rain, each set with two delicate patterned plates and oyster forks. A bucket of fresh champagne stood beside each table, and chairs decorated with ribbons beckoned each couple to sit. Sinclair pulled out a chair for her and she arranged her wide skirt around her legs.
Three sauce bowls, each with a tiny spoon, sat in the middle of the table, next to a dish of lemon wedges. Sinclair poured them each a flute of champagne. The opened oysters glowed intriguingly in the moonlight in their mother-of-pearl-lined shells. He picked up a shell and spooned one of the sauces onto it. “Open your mouth.”
She obeyed, her stomach clenching slightly, either because of the strange food or the prospect of Sinclair feeding it to her—or both. He tipped the shell toward her mouth and she gently sucked. The cool, oceany taste of the oyster met with a pleasantly sharp explosion of picante sauce on her tongue.
“Swallow.”
She swallowed, blinking at the strange sensation of the smooth oyster sliding down her throat. “That was different.”
Sinclair smiled. “Now you feed me one.”
“My duties as a housekeeper keep expanding in strange directions.” She glanced flirtatiously at him. She wasn’t sure why she kept reminding him—and herself—that he was her employer, but somehow it seemed preferable to having them both forget again. It made whatever romance they did share feel more … real.
“You’re not here as my housekeeper.” Sinclair obviously didn’t find comfort in her words. “But feed me an oyster anyway.” His voice contained a hint of suggestion that made her skin tingle with awareness. She reached for the plate and took one of the pearly shells. She surveyed the sauces. One looked tomatoey, like a cocktail sauce. One was thinner and a little darker, probably hot sauce. The other had herbs floating in it—garlic? She decided to go classic and squeezed a spritz of lemon onto the fish, then held it out. Sinclair’s lips struggled with a slight smile as he opened them for her to tip the contents of the shell into his mouth. Her fingers trembled but she managed to hold it steady as he slurped the oyster gracefully into his mouth and swallowed it. “Delicious.”
The satisfied look on his face suggested that it wasn’t only their appetizer that he spoke about. Some strange place way below her belly button shimmied in response. Was this the aphrodisiac effect of the oysters?
“Your turn.” Their champagne sat untouched as he fed her another oyster, then she fed him. Then he caught hold of her fingers that proffered the shell and kissed them, sending sparks of arousal dancing up her arm.
“You’re glowing tonight.” He spoke softly, serious.
“Like the oyster shells.” She said the first thing that came to mind. His compliment shocked and embarrassed her.
Those adorable smile crinkles showed around his eyes. “In most of the women I know, modesty sounds like they’re fishing for compliments. In you it’s far more annoying because I suspect you really mean it.” He kissed her fingertips again before letting them go.
“No one growing up in my family could suffer from a swelled head for long.”
He leaned forward. “I don’t know anything about your family, except that you need to buy your own house so you don’t have to live with them anymore.”
She laughed. “They’re not that bad. Just loud and bossy and funny. They’re nice, really, except Granny when she’s in one of her moods. She’s the dictator of the family and what she says, goes.”
“Partly because she owns the house everyone lives in.”
“Exactly.” She smiled. “You have personal experience with how that works.”
“I don’t have moods,” he protested. His eyes glittered with amusement.
“Not often, anyway,” she teased. “But if you did I’d have to put up with them, wouldn’t I?”
“Definitely not. I don’t encourage people to slink about like mute sheep. I wouldn’t have much of a business if everyone yessed me to death.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She had tiptoed around him for a long time. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t seemed to notice her before. Judging from his past wives, he was attracted to rather strong-minded women—even if he couldn’t actually stay married to them. “I’ll make a point of being more assertive. Then again, I’m not sure I need to be, since I do everything my way and you all seem to be happy anyway.”
A smile crept across his mouth. “Sounds like the ideal state of affairs. Obviously your way is perfect.” He tilted his head slightly, and held her gaze with those relentless dark eyes. “For me, anyway.”
Annie’s chest tightened inside her elegant gown. This sounded like some kind of major declaration. Or was it simply dinner-party chatter? She didn’t have enough experience to tell the difference. And Sinclair’s eyes were having a very unsettling effect on her.
He lifted both of their glasses and handed one to her. “To perfection. Long may it reign in castle Drummond.” She smiled and clinked her glass against his. The champagne contrasted pleasurably with the smooth saltiness of the oyster.
“Castle Drummond. I like that. The house doesn’t have a name, does it?”
“We’ve always called it Dog Harbor, after the town. It should, though. Anything that’s hung in there for three hundred years should have a name.”
“Especially if it’s built of wood. I can’t believe those ceiling beams in the attic. That house was built to stand the test of time. Do you think part of that old cup is really up there somewhere?”
He shrugged. “Could well be. It has no value or function that would encourage anyone to sell it over the years, so unless it was thrown away at some point, it’s probably in there somewhere.”
He fed her another oyster, and she shivered slightly as the cool, liquidy flesh slid down her throat. The tender look in his eyes made the gesture seem almost protective. Don’t get carried away! This is just one night.
It was hard not to, though. She picked up another oyster and fed it to him. He held her gaze as he pulled it into his mouth, and a corresponding flash of awareness lit up her secret places. Energy was gathering here, swirling around them, drawing them closer together.
A waiter arrived at the table with an empty wine bottle and a broad smile. Annie and Sinclair both looked at him curiously. Then he pulled out two leaves of delicate paper and two golden pencils. “You are hereby invited to write a message to each other. Preferably something you’d never dare say out loud. You may share the message before you place it in the bottle—or not. All the bottles will be released into the ocean to travel around the world and take your messages to each other with them.”
Annie blinked. What would she never dare say out loud?
I’m crazy about you.
He probably knew that anyway.
Sinclair was frowning at his piece of paper. He glanced up at her with an odd look in his eyes. “Let’s write something and not show each other.”
“Okay.” Anxiety fluttered in her stomach. What if he said they wouldn’t look, then at the last minute they had to because of some party game? She picked up her pencil and chewed it thoughtfully. “At least they’re not making us write rhyming couplets.”
“True, though that might be fun.” He paused for a moment, then started writing, looking intently at his paper.
She couldn’t read the words, partly because a single candle on the table was their only light beyond the moon, and partly because his writing was worse than most doctors’. She turned to the blank square that sat mockingly on the table. A quick glance revealed that other guests at the tables around them were writing or even already squeezing their rolled-up papers into the neck of the bottle. “What if it ends up in the Great Pacific Plastic Patch?”
“What if it ends up in the hands of a lonely castaway on a remote Pacific island and gives him the strength to survive another month?”
“You apparently have a more romantic imagination than me.” She snuck a glance at him. He’d rolled his paper into a thin cylinder, held between his thumb and finger. “And now I’m really curious about what you wrote.”
He smiled mysteriously. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you.” His gaze lingered on her face for a moment, making heat rise under her skin.
Sinclair, I think you’re a very handsome and thoughtful man who deserves to live happily ever after (preferably with me). She wrote the last part so tiny there was no way anyone could read it. P.S. I love you.
She rolled the message up fast and shoved it into the neck of the bottle before anyone could pry it from her fingers and make her read it aloud. Her hands trembled with the power of writing exactly what she wanted to, and not settling for saying the sensible thing. If it came back to haunt her someday, so what? Right now she was living a dream, if only for a night.
Did she really love him? She had no idea. Lack of experience again. She’d certainly never admired and adored a man as much as she did Sinclair. And a simple glance in her direction from him made her palms sweat. If that wasn’t love it was something pretty close.
Sinclair pushed his message into the bottle and jammed in the cork their hosts had provided.
The waiter appeared again, and asked them to follow him. Annie rose from her chair, gathered her skirts, and she and Sinclair joined the other couples now walking across the broad sweep of lawn toward the Sound.
The moon cast an ethereal silver glow over the landscape. The lawn was a lush carpet underfoot and the slim beach at the shoreline glittered like crushed diamonds. Protected from the Atlantic by Long Island, the waveless water shimmered like a pool of mercury. Behind them the house resembled a fairy palace, its many windows lit and lanterns festooning the terraces.
As they grew closer she could see rowboats, almost like Venetian gondolas, lined up along a long, wooden dock. They bobbed slightly on the calm water. Attendants dressed in black brocade helped each couple into their own personal boat and gave the oars to the men, before pointing to a small, tree-cloaked island far out in the water.
“We’re supposed to row out there in the dark?” Each gondola had a lantern, hung from a curlicue of wrought iron, at its stern.
“It’ll be an adventure.” Sinclair’s low voice stirred something inside her. He took her hand, his skin warm and rough against hers. Her pulse quickened as they walked along the dock, amid laughs and shouts of mock distress from the other boaters. Sinclair and the staff helped her into the boat and seated her on a surprisingly comfortable plush seat, while Sinclair took up his place at the oar locks.
