care; his offer came naturally. More naturally than he cared to admit.
"I'll take whatever help I can get. Maybe get started tomorrow after a good night's rest and I'll feel like my ol' self again. I'll be in touch."
He took one last solid look around the place, then gave a final nod of approval. He turned to leave, but not before tossing Shayne a knowing look with a glint in his eye. Willow ushered him out the door.
By the time she returned, Shayne prepared for the consequences of imposing himself into her life further. But she said nothing of his bold move. Instead, she looked about the bungalow, apparently distracted.
"Willow, are you okay? What is it?"
"I'm worried about that sweet man. He looked pale for someone who spends his days outside in the Florida sun."
"We can keep an eye on him."
"We?" She drew her expression up to him, searched his eyes for some meaning behind his statement. Something long-term, with deeper meaning, perhaps.
"At least for as long as I'm here," he amended, careful not to trip on his words.
Willow's light features shadowed. "Right, of course. For as long as you're here. But really, your stay here in the States is so short, you shouldn't waste your time here patching baseboards. It really isn't necessary." She spun away from him and slammed the kitchen window closed.
A bolt of heat shot through his chest, somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. Was she rejecting him? Angry at the reality that he presented before her? Yes and yes. He didn't blame her. Here he was behaving like he was part of her life but then saying he'd be out of there just as quickly. Definitely sending mixed messages.
"You don't want me here," he asserted. He followed her to the dining area where she closed off that window, too.
She turned to him.
"Shayne," she began, but the light in her eye didn't sparkle like it usually did when she referred to him. "It's not a good idea for you to be here helping me. Or kissing me. We both know you'll be leaving and going back to," she paused, as if to search for the right words. "Your usual way of life. All the glitz, the glamour. The fundraisers, the black-tie events, the women ."
She marched into the great room. She slammed shut another window.
Her admission came as a surprise attack on his senses. He marched into the room behind her. "So this isn't just about my leaving. It's about my reputation?"
She brought her eyes up to his. "I don't want to be another conquest to you." Despite the defiant angle of her chin, she lowered her eyelashes now that she finally admitted the truth. She brushed past him like she always did when their conversation became too intense. She left behind a wave of heat—and a smattering of anger—as she marched out the front door.
Was that what she believed about him? That he only saw her as some conquest? He shouldn't be surprised. Shayne damned himself for allowing his reputation to get so out of hand. At first, he hadn't cared about the rumors. A cool playboy façade had given him the room to live his life with unaffected detachment, kept him from getting close to anyone. Kept him from getting hurt.
He deserved Willow's rejection and hated himself for it. He never considered how the falsehood behind his reputation might hurt someone like her along the way. Someone he cared more and more about each day.
He had to do damage control.
Shayne stalked out the front door after Willow. He found her pulling weeds out by the walkway. "A woman in every port, right? Is that what you think?" he asked.
She rose to meet his stare, not once backing down from his demanding question. Nor did she refute the allegation. The high angle of her eyebrow told him that.
"They're nothing but rumors," Shayne continued. "Whatever information you've gathered about me, whatever preconceived notions you've formed, they're based on fallacies."
She continued to stare at him with intense scrutiny, yet not a word came from her.
"Say something, damn it, or I'll kiss you
"I'll take whatever help I can get. Maybe get started tomorrow after a good night's rest and I'll feel like my ol' self again. I'll be in touch."
He took one last solid look around the place, then gave a final nod of approval. He turned to leave, but not before tossing Shayne a knowing look with a glint in his eye. Willow ushered him out the door.
By the time she returned, Shayne prepared for the consequences of imposing himself into her life further. But she said nothing of his bold move. Instead, she looked about the bungalow, apparently distracted.
"Willow, are you okay? What is it?"
"I'm worried about that sweet man. He looked pale for someone who spends his days outside in the Florida sun."
"We can keep an eye on him."
"We?" She drew her expression up to him, searched his eyes for some meaning behind his statement. Something long-term, with deeper meaning, perhaps.
"At least for as long as I'm here," he amended, careful not to trip on his words.
Willow's light features shadowed. "Right, of course. For as long as you're here. But really, your stay here in the States is so short, you shouldn't waste your time here patching baseboards. It really isn't necessary." She spun away from him and slammed the kitchen window closed.
A bolt of heat shot through his chest, somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. Was she rejecting him? Angry at the reality that he presented before her? Yes and yes. He didn't blame her. Here he was behaving like he was part of her life but then saying he'd be out of there just as quickly. Definitely sending mixed messages.
"You don't want me here," he asserted. He followed her to the dining area where she closed off that window, too.
She turned to him.
"Shayne," she began, but the light in her eye didn't sparkle like it usually did when she referred to him. "It's not a good idea for you to be here helping me. Or kissing me. We both know you'll be leaving and going back to," she paused, as if to search for the right words. "Your usual way of life. All the glitz, the glamour. The fundraisers, the black-tie events, the women ."
She marched into the great room. She slammed shut another window.
Her admission came as a surprise attack on his senses. He marched into the room behind her. "So this isn't just about my leaving. It's about my reputation?"
She brought her eyes up to his. "I don't want to be another conquest to you." Despite the defiant angle of her chin, she lowered her eyelashes now that she finally admitted the truth. She brushed past him like she always did when their conversation became too intense. She left behind a wave of heat—and a smattering of anger—as she marched out the front door.
Was that what she believed about him? That he only saw her as some conquest? He shouldn't be surprised. Shayne damned himself for allowing his reputation to get so out of hand. At first, he hadn't cared about the rumors. A cool playboy façade had given him the room to live his life with unaffected detachment, kept him from getting close to anyone. Kept him from getting hurt.
He deserved Willow's rejection and hated himself for it. He never considered how the falsehood behind his reputation might hurt someone like her along the way. Someone he cared more and more about each day.
He had to do damage control.
Shayne stalked out the front door after Willow. He found her pulling weeds out by the walkway. "A woman in every port, right? Is that what you think?" he asked.
She rose to meet his stare, not once backing down from his demanding question. Nor did she refute the allegation. The high angle of her eyebrow told him that.
"They're nothing but rumors," Shayne continued. "Whatever information you've gathered about me, whatever preconceived notions you've formed, they're based on fallacies."
She continued to stare at him with intense scrutiny, yet not a word came from her.
"Say something, damn it, or I'll kiss you
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