Unravel Me

Table of Contents

 

 

Praise for the novels of Christie Ridgway

“Delightful.”—Rachel Gibson

 

“Tender, funny, and wonderfully emotional.”

—Barbara Freethy

 

“Pure romance, delightfully warm and funny.”

—Jennifer Crusie

 

“Smart, peppy.”—
Publishers Weekly

 

“An irresistible read!”—Susan Wiggs

 

“Funny, supersexy, and fast paced . . . Ridgway is noted for her humorous, spicy, and upbeat stories.”—
Library Journal

 

“Christie Ridgway is a first-class author.”

—
Midwest Book Review

 

“Christie Ridgway’s books are crammed with smart girls, manly men, great sex, and fast, funny dialogue. Her latest novel . . . is a delightful example, a romance as purely sparkling as California champagne.”—
BookPage

 

“Ridgway delights yet again with this charming, witty tale of holiday romance. Not only are the characters sympathetic, intelligent, and engaging, but the sexual tension between the main characters is played out with tremendous skill.”—
Romantic Times

HOW TO KNIT A WILD BIKINI
UNRAVEL ME

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

UNRAVEL ME

 

A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

 

PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / November 2008

Copyright © 2008 by Christie Ridgway.

 

All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form
without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in
violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

 

eISBN : 978-0-425-22485-4

 

BERKLEY® SENSATION
Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One

Love is like war; easy to begin but very hard to stop.

—HENRY LOUIS MENCKEN

Driving from the shop by the beach to her home in the Malibu hills, Juliet Weston peered through the deepening dusk and weighed the merits of bathing in Super Glue. A dab would repair a fingernail. She’d read a line of the stuff could close a wound. What she faced was more dire, however. Would immersion in a tub of maximum-hold adhesive keep her from fracturing into a thousand little pieces?

She needed her protective shell. It kept her emotions contained and it kept away the rest of the world. But the jarring information she’d been told twenty minutes before had tapped her surface, a single hammer blow to porcelain, and she sensed the cracks in her control.

She arrived home to find her foyer shadowy, her kitchen just as dark, but she didn’t flip a single switch. Bright lights, a deep breath—who knew what might trigger the ruin of what had held her together for the last eleven months?

With slow, careful steps, she made her way across the terra-cotta tiles in the kitchen, her gaze brushing the butcher-block island, the whitewashed cabinets, the gleaming sink, to land on the window overlooking the flagstone deck and the pool that stood between her and the guesthouse. From there she took in the stretch of Pacific Ocean that was her western view.

It was an incredible vista, worth every penny she’d paid for the place, and though she’d lived here a week, its beauty wasn’t sinking in, any more than the news she’d been told at the yarn shop by the beach. That was the downside of her shell—it kept her distant from the good as well as from the bad.

“Who am I?” she said out loud, and at the same instant she voiced the question, a light flashed on outside. Startled, she jerked, stumbling back so she had to catch herself from falling by slamming her hand onto the butcher block.

Some idiot had left a knife there, a small one that the same idiot—Juliet herself—had used to cut up an apple earlier in the day.

It cut
her
now. Without thinking, she lifted her forefinger to her mouth, her attention shifting out the window again.

The pool lights were glowing, turning what had been dark waters into a tranquil, turquoise lagoon, a lovely contrast to the now-descended night. This time, the beautiful sight struck her, a second hammer blow.

And then the surface rippled, the lagoon was invaded, the tranquility shattered.

A man was in Juliet Weston’s pool.

Her finger was still bleeding. The blood was salty on her tongue, giving an earthy flavor to a further realization.

A
nude
man was in her pool.

She should turn away. At least shut her eyes.

Instead, she found herself staring at the naked, novel sight.

Against the turquoise light his figure was a dark silhouette with an aquamarine outline running along the edges of his body like veins of neon light. He was tall and lean, his shoulders wide. He had strong arms that reached out as if to gather life closer to himself with each stroke.

He swam away from her, and as his long legs fluttered with lazy kicks, she detected the shift of muscles in his rounded buttocks, the muscles tightening to create a scoop on the right, then a scoop on the left. She watched, fascinated at how every movement, how every line of that big body exuded power. And sex.

Embarrassment flooded Juliet’s face with heat, but something was burning inside her, too, burning so hot that the blast of heat was the final blow to her compromised defenses. As her gaze stayed focused on that masculine specimen of sinew and skin, her shell crumbled, the pieces flaming as they fell to land as ashes at her feet. Her flesh was left behind, still clothed, but hypersensitive to the gentle scrape of fabric against its surface. It left her hyper-aware of that swimming man, turning now.

Coming toward her. Inexorable. Inevitable.

Climbing the steps, climbing out of the pool, his all-male nakedness part threat, part magnet.

His right foot breached the deck. His left.

Her heart expanded, pressing against her chest wall.
Get back!
her instincts screamed.
Get away!

Air rushed out of her lungs. She leaped in retreat, even as she knew he couldn’t see her through the darkened windows. Her hips crashed into the square butcher-block table, shoving it along the terra-cotta pavers with a piercing screech. The knife clattered to the floor, followed by the shallow wooden bowl that held the rest of the ripe, red fruit.

Thump-thump-thump-thump
.

Apples rolled unevenly along the floor, mimicking the jerky beat of her heart.

One darting glance showed that the dark figure had frozen, but then it thawed in an instant and made a dash for the kitchen door. The too-flimsy door that was the only thing keeping them apart.

It was wrenched open. The overhead light blazed on.

Juliet resisted the urge to hide from him. What good would it do?

She kept her focus steady on his face, not glancing down, not letting him realize that she realized that his big male body was dripping on her floor. His big, dripping, naked male body.

He didn’t acknowledge his nakedness either. Instead, he stared, his gaze running over her. She felt it like a hand, his hands, big like he was, strong and sinewy. She hadn’t felt anything in so, so long. Goose bumps rose in the wake of that imaginary touch and her breasts tingled inside her bra as again her face burned.

“You’re hurt.” His voice was rough but he reached toward her slowly, one of those hands lifting in her direction, heavy veins standing out on the back of it. The dark hairs of his forearm were plastered against his tanned skin and drops of water still moved along his muscles like a man sweating after hard work . . . or after making hard, satisfying love.