That Carolina Summer (North Carolina) Read online

  At the edge of the pool Annette paused to study the lone swimmer lapping the pool. She mentally timed the powerful stroke, but his pace was leisurely, which suited her purpose to a tee. Once he was clear of the immediate area, Annette arched and dived cleanly off the poolside, slicing into the water without a sound. She swam underwater for several yards and surfaced alongside him.

  His brown eyes flicked over her in mild surprise. Up close, Annette could see the easy male charm in his strong features, a lazy sensuality lying in the chiseled lines. The potency of it heated her blood. She guessed how wide-eyed and innocent she looked as she blinked the water from her lashes.

  “Hi.” Annette spoke quickly before he could swim away. “Are you doing laps?"

  “Yes.” There was a faint narrowing of his gaze.

  “Do you mind if I swim with you?” she asked, and offered the explanation, “It helps if I can pace myself against another swimmer."

  “I don't mind.” There was a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. He was used to women seeking him out. She would have to be very subtle.

  “Good.” Annette struck out for the far end of the pool with a clean strong stroke.

  All the hours she'd spent training on the college swim team were about to pay off. But not yet. Annette didn't attempt to outdistance him or even increase the pace he'd been swimming previously. She wasn't foolish enough to believe she could outswim him even with her expertise in the water, but she could make him take notice of her—eventually. First she wanted to settle into a rhythm; the tempo could always be increased later.

  For the entire length of the pool, Annette remained even with him, fully aware that he was holding back the same as she was—only he didn't know that. With each breath she looked at the dark-haired swimmer opposite her and the cleaving strokes of his muscled arms.

  At the end of the first lap she did a racer's turn, not trying for speed. She was a half length in front of him, the maneuver catching him off guard. This time Annette didn't try to take advantage of it as he quickly caught up with her. When their eyes met briefly on a mutually timed breath, there was a gleam of respect in his. Annette turned her face into the water and effectively hid her smile. He picked up the tempo slightly and she stayed with him.

  She counted the laps, concentrating on her stroke. Past experience had taught her that she lost her kick after a mile. She waited until she had only two lengths of the pool left to go, then she made her move, putting everything she had into the turn and launching herself off the side of the pool. She was more than a length ahead of him when she surfaced and struck out for the other side at race tempo.

  Before Annette made the final turn he had caught up with her, as she had known he would. But she had his full attention. Nothing attracted it quicker from a man than to have a female challenge his male superiority. She would have thrown the race in order to let him win, but it wasn't necessary.

  On the last lap he was easily outdistancing her. Annette used every ounce of her reserve strength to keep respectably close. The instant her hand touched the side of the pool she stopped, even though he continued. Her lungs felt ready to burst.

  With the assistance of the water's buoyancy, she levered herself out of the pool with her arms, swinging her legs out of the water to recline at fight angles to the edge. Annette drank in gulps of air, her breasts heaving with the effort to fill her lungs. Pulling off the swim cap that had kept her hair half-dry, she leaned backward on her elbows. Her head was thrown back, exposing the curve of her throat and catching the sheen of the sunlight in her blond hair.

  “Are you quitting?” It was a taunting challenge, and Annette half turned, one elbow supporting her weight. Josh Lord was treading water, eyeing her exhausted state with male complacency, even white teeth showing against sun-bronzed skin.

  For a brief instant she was irritated to see he was barely breathing hard at all, but the feeling was forgotten as his gaze traveled over the curves of her figure, lingering a scant second on the swell of her breasts.

  “Yes,” Annette admitted in a voice that was attractively breathless. “A mile is my limit. Thanks for the workout."

  “Anytime, kid.” He turned in the water and swam leisurely away, missing the look of shock, then anger, that swept through Annette's expression.

  Kid! With a sudden surge of energy she rolled to her feet and crossed to the lounge chair next to Marsha's. Her temper was simmering at a low boil. So he thought she was a kid! The light of battle stormed in her gray eyes.

  “What happened?” Marsha recognized that look and inwardly trembled at what it might mean. “Did it backfire?"

  “Not exactly.” Annette stretched out in the lounge chair to let the sun dry her, closing her eyes. “I accomplished what I set out to do.” Namely, to get Josh Lord to notice her, and she had succeeded in that. But at the moment, this “kid” had to do some rethinking. It would be simply too immature to tell him that she would be twenty in just a few days.

  Through slitted eyes Annette observed him climbing out of the pool a few minutes later. His wet hair gleamed almost black, its burnished highlights temporarily hidden. The sheen of moisture on his flatly muscled body gave his deeply tanned flesh a polished look. His hard male physique started a quivering sensation in her stomach as Annette imagined what it would be like to be next to it.

  He draped a towel around his neck but made no effort to dry himself. When he cast a glance in her direction, Annette was glad her eyes appeared to be closed. She didn't want to be caught watching him. A ripple of satisfaction eliminated any lingering irritation. Even if he considered her a “kid,” he was aware of her. For the time being she was willing to settle for that.

  As Josh Lord left the poolside area to disappear down one of the walkways, Marsha laid her book down. “Here comes Dad and Kathleen. Robby must have finally woken up from his afternoon nap."

  Annette sat up as her father and stepmother approached, a black-haired little boy tugging impatiently at Kathleen's hand to hurry her. She smiled, liking the picture the three of them made with her father's arm possessively around the shoulders of the attractive auburn-haired woman. It was always reassuring to see how much in love the two of them were.

  Marsha waved to attract the couple's attention and Kathleen released her son's hand. Robby careered past the other chairs, a pint-size cyclone in swimming trunks as he raced toward Marsha and Annette.

  “Whoa!” Annette laughed and caught her half brother around the waist to stop him. “You're not supposed to run around the pool. Sometimes it's slick and you'll fall."

  Her bathing suit was still wet, and Robby noticed it immediately. “How come you didn't wait until I woke up to go swimming?” he accused. “I'd wait for you."

  “Get your water wings and I'll go swimming again—with you,” Annette promised, and turned him loose.

  Robby barely gave Kathleen a chance to set the beach bag down before he was diving into it. “Not so fast,” she admonished him for the careless regard toward the other items in the oversize bag. “Fold the towels you dumped out."

  “I'll do it, Kathleen,” Marsha volunteered.

  “No, Robby can do it.” The rejection was accompanied by a smile. “You girls spoil him too much as it is."

  “I thought that was what older sisters were supposed to do,” Annette laughed. “Marsha and I will watch him so you and Dad can have some time together.” She glanced at her father, so tall and handsome, and looked into a pair of gray eyes the same color as hers. “Besides, we don't want Robby giving Dad any more gray hairs.” She teased him about the white strand she'd found mixed in among the black the day before.

  “Don't blame those on Robby,” Jordan Long replied. “If anyone in this family is capable of giving me gray hairs, it's you, Annette."

  “When have you ever had to worry about me?” she chided.

  “Practically since the day you were born,” he retorted dryly. “Speaking of which—have you decided what you want for your birthday?"

&
nbsp; “Yes.” She had an instant image of Joshua Lord.

  “What?” Kathleen prompted while she adjusted the water wings on Robby's arms.

  “A Ferrari,” Annette lied. She couldn't very well tell her father what she really wanted for her birthday.

  “Try again,” he suggested, and Annette laughed, knowing full well that her request had been out of the question.

  Chapter Two

  ANNETTE ROLLED OVER in the bed and felt the glare of an early-morning sun on her eyes. She pulled the blankets over her head in an attempt to shut it out, but it was no use. Her sleep had been disrupted, and once awake, she was rarely able to go back to sleep.

  With a groan she tossed back the covers and turned to look at the occupant of the room's other single bed. Marsha was sound asleep. Annette wanted to throw a pillow at her out of sheer envy, but it wasn't her sister's fault that she was awake. She crawled out of bed and padded into the bathroom.

  A few minutes later she emerged, her teeth brushed and the tiredness washed from her eyes. Before deciding what to wear, Annette walked to the window to see what kind of day it promised to be. Except for a few innocent white clouds, the sky was bright and clear.

  The second-floor window provided a view of the bay and the golf course that adjoined the resort-hotel complex. From this vantage point Annette studied other early-morning risers out jogging. A lone runner stood out from the others. She'd recognize that length of muscled leg and that flowing stride anywhere. That well-trimmed male body had to be Josh Lord's.

  Her gaze skipped ahead of him to study his possible routes and instantly memorized them. Turning quickly from the window, she hurried to the dresser drawers containing her clothes. She pawed carelessly through the folded clothes until she found her turquoise blue jogging shorts and matching tank top. In record time Annette peeled off her T-shirt-styled nightgown and donned the jogging outfit, not bothering with a bra.

  When she reached for a pair of heavy socks to wear with her running shoes, Annette caught a glimpse of her reflection in the dresser's mirror. She paused to look more closely. Her face was scrubbed clean of any makeup, the result combining with her clothes to make her appear more youthful.

  “A kid, huh?” she murmured at her reflection, and studied her shoulder-length blond hair. Reaching up, Annette loosely bunched one side of her hair in a pigtail style. Wicked mischief gleamed in her eyes. “If he thought I looked like a kid yesterday, just wait until he sees me this morning.” Leaving the socks behind, she dashed into the bathroom to fix her hair, securing the sides with rubber bands. The result was positively juvenile—and she laughed out loud. Returning to the bedroom area she shared with her sister, Annette tugged on her socks and shoes.

  “What are you doing?” Marsha's sleepy voice asked. “What time is it?"

  “A little after six.” With one shoe tied, Annette shifted position to tie the laces of the other.

  Marsha frowned in her effort to focus her eyes on Annette. “You aren't going to run at this hour?” She protested against the thought of such strenuous activity so early in the morning.

  “Yep,” Annette answered brightly, and shot her sister a glittering look. “You never know who you might ‘run’ into."

  “Let me guess,” Marsha replied dryly, and sank back to her bed.

  “Wish me luck.” Annette started toward the door.

  “With him you'll need it,” Marsha called after her.

  As Annette descended the stairs to the ground floor, she silently conceded that in this instance her sister might be right. Luck would come in handy in catching Josh Lord. Without a second glance she trotted past the azalea bushes and their exotic pink blossoms. Playing a hunch, Annette headed toward the hotel's beach on the Atlantic Ocean.

  Choosing the sidewalk instead of the sand, she rounded the curve of the bathhouses. Her heart did a funny little leap when she recognized the man jogging toward her. The sleeves of a sweatshirt were tied around his neck, baring the muscled wall of his flat stomach, his tanned flesh glistening with perspiration. Annette saw the answering glint of recognition in his dark eyes when they spied her. He didn't even appear to be surprised to see her jogging.

  “It's a gorgeous morning, isn't it?” she greeted him, and deliberately shifted her course so she would pass him on the beach side of the walk. So far everything was going perfectly.

  “It is,” he agreed with a faint nod, not breaking stride.

  Annette didn't slacken her pace, either. But as she drew level with him to jog by, she deliberately stepped off the sidewalk onto the soft sand, throwing herself off balance on purpose. She faked a startled cry and tumbled to the ground, the sand cushioning her fall. Very careful not to look around, she grabbed for her ankle and inwardly held her breath.

  “Are you hurt?” His inquiry nearly had her leaping into the air, but she managed to contain the surge of triumph. There had been a skeptical note in his voice, as if he guessed the fall was for his benefit.

  She cast him a quick glance and immediately lowered her head. She didn't feel ready to hold his steady gaze. “I'm okay,” Annette insisted, and flexed her ankle with feigned care. “I just turned it."

  “Are you sure?” He waited, as if sensing something wasn't altogether right about this.

  “Yes,” Annette nodded, but kept her face averted as she shifted her legs under her as if to rise, then paused to brush away the grains of sand clinging to her bare arms and legs. Satisfaction warmed her blood at the sound of his approaching footsteps in the sand.

  “Let me give you a hand up.” A large sun-browned hand was extended to her.

  She looked at it, then glanced hesitantly at his shrewdly inspecting gaze before she tentatively placed her hand in his grip. “It's embarrassing,” Annette murmured as he helped her to her feet, conscious of his strength. He wasn't going to be easy to fool.

  “What is?” he inquired.

  “Falling down,” she explained with a crooked smile of chagrin. “Nobody can do it gracefully, and you always feel like a stumbling fool.” The pretense of candor was a direct gambit to throw him off track. Annette knew she had succeeded when she saw the amused indulgence in his expression. He released her hand but didn't let go of her, shifting his grip to support her elbow.

  “It happens to all of us at one time or another,” he assured her, then suggested, “Why don't you test that ankle?"

  She took a tentative step, deliberately favoring it. “It's a little tender, but I can walk it off.” Annette wasn't about to pretend it was anything more than a simple turn. As she stood so close to him, his body heat was giving off a beady male odor that stimulated her senses, which were already overly alert to his presence. Her side-glance caught his watchful look, a degree of suspicion lingering.

  “It's bound to be weak. I wouldn't run on it this morning,” he advised.

  “No, I don't suppose I should,” she sighed the agreement. Since she no longer needed his support, his hand fell away. “Thanks for stopping—” Annette paused and looked at him expectantly to see if he would supply his name.

  “Josh,” he filled in her apparent blank.

  “Annette,” she identified herself, and reached out to seal the introduction with a handshake. When she didn't immediately withdraw her hand from the warm clasp of his fingers, Josh continued to hold it loosely. She wished there was something she could do to erase that glint of amusement from his eyes, but for the time being she had to let it remain. “Thanks, Josh."

  “My pleasure.” His smile was brief.

  Drawing her hand back, she took a deep breath, which stretched the knit material of her tank top across the jutting curves of her breasts. The action attracted his attention. A flicker of annoyance appeared briefly in his eyes. Annette wanted to laugh, because she knew he regarded her as a mere child and felt guilty for looking at her “budding” femininity. His gaze ran sharply back to her face, as if he guessed she had deliberately attracted his notice.

  “Can I buy you some orange juice or
a cup of coffee?” Annette offered. For a split second she thought he was going to refuse.

  “Coffee sounds good. I haven't had my morning cup yet,” Josh accepted, and untied the sleeves of his sweat shirt. She was almost sorry when he pulled it over his head to put it on. It seemed a sin to cover up such a virile chest.

  Her expression must have betrayed part of her thoughts, because he tipped his head to one side. “Is something wrong?"

  Annette started to deny it, then let a precocious smile touch her mouth. “I was just thinking this is the first time I've seen you with a shirt on."

  Just for an instant he looked irritated, then he chuckled in his throat. “It is, isn't it?” He spread his fingers between her shoulder blades to push her forward. “I take it that you are staying here at the hotel?"

  “Yes.” She moved in the direction of the bathhouses, where there was a walkway leading around the tall fence that screened the swimming pool from the beach. “Are you staying at the hotel, too?” she asked, as if she didn't already know.

  “Yes.” But Josh Lord failed to mention his status as owner of the resort. “I believe they'll serve us outside on the patio if you'd like to sit there."

  “That would be nice,” Annette agreed to the suggestion, warmly conscious of his fingers touching the bare skin of her shoulders.

  “Where's your home?” Josh asked, and guided her around the pool to the umbrella-shaded tables outside the coffee shop.

  “Delaware, just outside Dover.” Her skin felt cool when he took his hand away to pull out a wrought-iron chair for her to sit on.

  “That's up the coast a few miles,” he remarked, waiting until she was seated before he sat down, his long legs nearly touching hers. “Is this your first trip to North Carolina?"

  “Yes. We flew in a couple of days ago. So far we haven't done much sight-seeing, but we have a whole month.” Annette disliked his questions. They were too simple—too polite. She wouldn't get anywhere this way.