The Tycoon's Perfect Match (9 page)

Damn.

M
ari slowly spun the clay on her wheel. This was the critical time, when she was going to pull up the side of the bowl, and she wanted it to be as even as possible.

She heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel, saw Brian's reflection in the side window. “Come in,” she yelled. “I can't open the door right now.”

He stood behind her, and his special scent of pine and spice drifted over her.

“I'll be right with you.” The bowl did exactly what she wanted it to. Perfect.

She looked up at Brian. He seemed to be mesmerized. She lifted her foot and the wheel stopped. She found her wire and carefully cut the bowl from the remaining clay.

“Hello.” Just looking at him signaled the butterflies in her stomach to start fluttering. He was wearing faded jeans that were a perfect fit, along with a black T-shirt. His sneakers were barely scuffed.

“What brings you here?” she asked.

“I wanted to paint and caulk a couple of window frames that I noticed needed some work. I won't bother you.”

His mere presence would bother her, in more ways than one.

Brian looked around at the completed pieces. “This is beautiful work.” He walked around the porch and looked at her finished pottery. “May I pick it up?”

“Sure.” It pleased her that he was interested. “It's pretty sturdy.”

“I love this heron that you painted. And the ducks in the cattails are wonderful. And the colors and sheen. What's it called?”

“Glaze. My grandmother taught me how to mix and what to add for the best results.” She winked. “I'd tell you my recipe, but it's a family secret.”

“I wouldn't know what to do with it, anyway.”

She smiled. “Would you like something for yourself?”

“I'd love this heron mug. Or maybe the one with the ducks.”

She took them both off the shelf and handed them to him. “Take them both.” Their fingers brushed, and she got some clay on his. “I'm sorry.” She found a clean rag and brushed the dirt from his hands.

“Let me wash up,” Mari said, “and I'll show you something in the boathouse. It's my favorite thing. Do you have time?”

“I do.”

From the sink in the kitchen, she could see him walk around and examine more of her pieces. Moments later, she joined him on the porch and they walked to the boathouse, where her kiln was stationed. She unlocked the latches and pulled up the lid. “Now look.”

They both peered into the six-sided barrel. “Isn't it amazing—all the colors?” she asked, hoping that he'd think so, too.

Brian let out a long whistle. “I can see why you think that this is the best part.”

She pulled out piece after piece—different colors, the same colors, experimental shapes and sizes.
Brian helped her load everything into a cushioned wheelbarrow.

“Mari, if you're interested in selling your pottery, I can think of several gift shops in the area that would love to carry it.”

Her heart beat faster. “Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“That's just how Great-Great-Grandma Violet Sherwood got started. Well, mostly.” Mari chuckled. “She had a carriage house, I have a boathouse.”

“I happen to have some boxes in my car. We'll pack up whatever you want to sell, and I'll make some calls at the gift shops in town. Or maybe you'd like to handle it yourself.”

Mari shook her head. “I'll pick out some pieces, but if you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you would do it.” She didn't know if she could handle rejection—not of something so personal as her art. Besides, he knew everybody.

That was a new feeling. She didn't care when a store chose not to carry Sherwood Enterprises products or rejected certain collections. She just had her sales staff move on.

Sherwood was her family legacy, just as Brian had pointed out. But her pottery was
hers.
It was
something that she'd always longed to do, but had never made time for.

Without Sherwood, she had the time. Her life could be hers to live as she chose, and luckily, she had saved enough money to last several lifetimes.

Then what was so hard about making a decision?

Brian was a good sounding board, and he was easy to talk to. He also knew her family background, her history.

Mari took a deep breath. She enjoyed Brian's company and his sense of humor. He was dependable and caring, that was evident when he returned home to be with his family when they needed him. He had yet to realize how much Hawk's Lake actually meant to him, but she was trying to help him with that.

And undoubtedly, she was definitely physically attracted to him, and she knew that the feeling was mutual.

There was nothing wrong with a few kisses—or more—to satisfy their desire.

She'd love to trust her old friend, but to do that would take a leap of faith, and Mari didn't know if she had that kind of trust in her anymore. She'd trusted one too many times, and a person could only take so much hurt—so much betrayal. Some
times it felt as if she didn't have it in herself to believe one more time that someone could love her just for herself.

 

Up on his ladder against the wall of Sherwood Lodge, Brian worked on a couple of windows, digging out old caulk and applying the new. When done, he looked around at the landscape.

It was turning into an unseasonably hot afternoon, which was good. It'd dry up the lawn and tweak the wildflowers into blooming sooner. He had to admit that, after a long winter, he liked seeing all the flowers.

Knowing Mari, she'd like that, too. She always used to pick wildflowers and bring them back to Sherwood Lodge for the kitchen table.

He unscrewed one of the shutters on Mari's front bedroom window. He might as well paint them, too. He couldn't help but look into the room as he did it, and noticed that the bed was perfectly made up. There was a book open on the desk right beneath the window.

“Brian?”

The shutter dropped out of his hands, slid down the roof, hit the ladder a few times and rested on the grass. If it didn't need painting before, it did now.

“Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you,” Mari said, looking up from the ground. “I just wanted to know if you needed anything.”

“You know, Mari, it's such a nice day. Want to row over to Secret Island?” he asked. “We could have a picnic.”

“Secret Island? But what about mean Mr. Yeller—you know, the guy who always shooed us away?”

“I bought the island from him.”

“You did?” She grinned. “When we were kids, you always said that you were going to own it one day.”

“I thought it'd be a good investment.”

The truth was, he couldn't stand the thought of someone else making memories on
their
secret island.

She shaded her eyes and looked west toward the slice of land floating in Hawk's Lake. The tip of it stuck out like a finger.

It seemed like she was contemplating whether she should go or not.

“Oh, Brian! Let's go!”

“Good,” he said, glad that he'd made her happy and eager to show her the island.

“I'll pack us some things to eat.”

“Okay. I'll drive over to Hawk's Roost and get the speedboat. I'll pick you up at the dock here.”

“Great.” She turned to leave.

“Oh, Mari?”

She stopped. “Yes?”

“Bring a bathing suit.”

“You can't be serious. It'll be freezing.”

“Trust me.”

He watched as she hurried to the cottage, a happy bounce to her step.

Picking up his pace, he hurried to his car. He'd take care of the shutters another time. Right now, he had better things to do.

 

Mari couldn't believe how great it felt to skim across crystal-clear Hawk's Lake in a lemon-yellow boat. It was a sleek, shiny craft that would be perfect for waterskiing.

Her hair flew around in the wind, and she let her hand catch the spray from the wake of the boat.

She looked at Brian standing behind the wheel. He was concentrating on the water straight ahead, even though there wasn't a soul on the lake. The sun made his face and hands look almost ruddy, as if he spent his days outdoors. She liked this casual Brian as much as she liked him in a suit.

“Remember when we used to paddle our canoes out here? It took us all day,” she said. “But we were explorers discovering a new world. And whenever
we were just about to set foot on Mr. Yeller's island, he would appear.”

“He once told me that, in retrospect, he should have just invited us over, and we could have gotten it out of our system.” Brian laughed. “Then it wouldn't have held such mystery.”

He skillfully pulled up to the dock and cut the motor. In one swift motion, he was out of the boat and tying it up.

“I would have helped,” Mari said.

“I got it.” He held his hand out, and she handed him a tote bag and a backpack. Then she held out her hand to him. “Step on the seat cushion. I got you.”

His grip was strong, and he made sure that she was steady. He slipped his arm around her waist, and they walked down the dock. It felt natural, as if they'd walked like this a million times, but he knew different. He was waiting for her to pull away from him soon.

She was swaying a little, but it subsided. “I'm okay now.” Looking up at a log structure mostly hidden by trees, she smiled. “Who's living there?”

“No one.” She was still in his arms, and he liked how they fit together like two puzzle pieces. “I rent it out during the summer. The same family comes back year after year.”

“Can I see the house?” she asked.

“Sure. That's where we're going.”

Surrounded by pines, Canadian hemlocks and white and yellow trilliums that were in bloom, they walked up a worn path strewn with rusty-colored pine needles to the cabin.

Mari stopped and looked at the simple structure. “It's much bigger than I'd thought.”

“Wait until you see the inside,” Brian said, lifting several large rocks until he found a key. “And the gazebo.”

He opened the door and they went in. Mari stood in the middle of the place, her mouth gaping in awe. It was rustic and grand at the same time. Knotty pine planks covered the walls. Brightly striped Hudson's Bay blankets and authentic-looking Adirondack pack baskets hung from the rafters. Log furniture was positioned around a floor-to-ceiling river-rock fireplace. The mantel looked like a slab of pink granite. A stone stairway led upstairs to a loft where more striped blankets hung like tapestries on a castle wall. A modern kitchen was tucked into a back corner.

“This is just magnificent, Brian.”

“I knew you'd like it. Now, prepare to be surprised,” he said, taking her hand. He led her to a
sunporch. When he opened the big French doors, Mari could see a gazebo made of hewn logs. Stone steps large enough for sitting surrounded a similar stone platform that circled around what looked like a small pool. Brian flipped a switch, and Mari could hear the bubbling of water.

“A hot tub?”

He looked deep into her eyes and gave her hand a squeeze. “Are you interested?”

Her stomach fluttered in nervous excitement. “Yes.”

Mari walked back into the house. It didn't take her any time at all to change into her suit. When she walked into the backyard, she noticed Brian's clothes hanging from a tree. He had on a pair of swim shorts that weren't too loose or too tight, but clung in all the right places.

He studied her body, too, and she was glad that she'd bought a new bathing suit. It was a generously cut two-piece and she liked the bright fuchsia color.

He gave a long, low whistle, and she chuckled. That sounded good.

“No pink bikini?” he asked.

“A
what?
”

“I think it might have been the summer when you were fourteen.”

“Ah. I remember it now,” Mari said.

“Obviously, not at much as I do.”

Finally, Mari set her tote bag down on a tall table within reach of the hot tub. “I have wine and some cheese.”

“Sounds good.” He held out his hand. “Shall we?”

He waited as Mari walked up the stairs and into the tub. Then he joined her.

She sat down and stretched out, letting out a deep breath. Jets bubbled up from everywhere. “I could do laps in this tub, it's so big.” She sighed as the warm water relaxed her body. “I can't remember how long it's been since I've done anything like this.”

That was a loaded statement.

Brian sat next to her. “Me, either. There's not enough time in the day. But maybe we should make time. Maybe we only
think
we're indispensable.”