injured in the explosion that killed Tony, and now—”
“I understand.”
His head whipped back around, and there was a fragile glimmer of hope in his eyes. “You do?”
“Yes. But now is your chance to reinvent yourself and learn how to be good at other things.”
That intense gaze of his softened, creating sexy little crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Displaying the tenderness that she’d come to expect from him, he stood, grabbed a fringed blanket from the back of the nearest chair, and arranged it over her.
“Close your eyes, Sky,” he told her. “Take a nap.”
She drifted off, thinking that when he looked at her like that, she could almost believe that she mattered to him. A lot.
“This should do it,” the foreman, or whoever he was, said late that afternoon, signaling to the person operating the cherry picker, or whatever that truck thing was. “Bring it this way.”
Skylar, Sandro, Nikolas and Mickey were gathered at the end of the driveway, watching the proceedings from a safe distance. Several hard-hat and reflective-vest-wearing workers had descended on the tree midafternoon, wielding chainsaws, ladders and all manner of other dangerous equipment, including a vicious wood chipper that looked like it could dispose of an entire log cabin in under ten seconds.
After several hours of work, they’d pruned and whittled the offending branch, and were now poised to lift it off the car with the crane thingy. Soon, the road would be clear and Skylar could be driven to a car rental or airport, so she could escape back to Boston, where she belonged.
All of which should be great news.
Except that the idea of leaving here—leaving Sandro—filled her with a growing dread that tiptoed right along the edge of despair. If only she had a little more time for…
For what, Skylar?
She didn’t know.
If she left now, would she ever see him again?
Would never seeing him again be the worst thing that could happen to her, or the best?
If she stayed…if she stayed…if she stayed, then…
What, Skylar?
Her mind’s eye squinted, peering into the future, but it was shapeless and dark, as scary as the overgrown path into the woods in Disney movies.
It didn’t make sense, and she couldn’t explain it; all she knew was that, for now, she belonged here.
No, that wasn’t it.
She belonged with Sandro. That was it.
As though he sensed her turmoil, Sandro glanced down at her.
“We’ll have you out of here in no time, Skylar,” he murmured.
He wasn’t smiling, but there was a gleam of something in his eyes, and she read it as grim triumph. Because weren’t they in a battle here, she and Sandro, and weren’t they hunkered down in their positions?
Her job was to wear him down, break through his resistance, get him to overcome his misguided sense of honor and admit that he wanted her more than he wanted to be true to Tony’s memory.
His job, on the other hand, was to hold his line until he could get rid of her, and then he could go back to his brooding and lonely life.
And what did all that mean?
It came down to this, she decided.
If she won, then they both won.
If he won, then all was lost, for both of them.
Then why was she being coy and beating around the bush? How many chances did she think she was going to get if she didn’t break out of her comfort zone sometime soon?
Sometime…like now?
Bolstered by her growing determination, she looked him dead in the eye. “You don’t want me out of here,” she said, “and we both know it.”
Something unidentifiable flared in his expression—Surprise? Panic? Passion?—and then a shout from one of the men jarred them back to their surroundings.
“Look out!”
For one suspended second, nothing happened. Skylar and the others glanced wildly around, trying to come up to speed and wondering what the alarm was for. The branch was off the car, dangling at the end of the crane, and there was nothing terrifying about that.
Only it wasn’t the
“I understand.”
His head whipped back around, and there was a fragile glimmer of hope in his eyes. “You do?”
“Yes. But now is your chance to reinvent yourself and learn how to be good at other things.”
That intense gaze of his softened, creating sexy little crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Displaying the tenderness that she’d come to expect from him, he stood, grabbed a fringed blanket from the back of the nearest chair, and arranged it over her.
“Close your eyes, Sky,” he told her. “Take a nap.”
She drifted off, thinking that when he looked at her like that, she could almost believe that she mattered to him. A lot.
“This should do it,” the foreman, or whoever he was, said late that afternoon, signaling to the person operating the cherry picker, or whatever that truck thing was. “Bring it this way.”
Skylar, Sandro, Nikolas and Mickey were gathered at the end of the driveway, watching the proceedings from a safe distance. Several hard-hat and reflective-vest-wearing workers had descended on the tree midafternoon, wielding chainsaws, ladders and all manner of other dangerous equipment, including a vicious wood chipper that looked like it could dispose of an entire log cabin in under ten seconds.
After several hours of work, they’d pruned and whittled the offending branch, and were now poised to lift it off the car with the crane thingy. Soon, the road would be clear and Skylar could be driven to a car rental or airport, so she could escape back to Boston, where she belonged.
All of which should be great news.
Except that the idea of leaving here—leaving Sandro—filled her with a growing dread that tiptoed right along the edge of despair. If only she had a little more time for…
For what, Skylar?
She didn’t know.
If she left now, would she ever see him again?
Would never seeing him again be the worst thing that could happen to her, or the best?
If she stayed…if she stayed…if she stayed, then…
What, Skylar?
Her mind’s eye squinted, peering into the future, but it was shapeless and dark, as scary as the overgrown path into the woods in Disney movies.
It didn’t make sense, and she couldn’t explain it; all she knew was that, for now, she belonged here.
No, that wasn’t it.
She belonged with Sandro. That was it.
As though he sensed her turmoil, Sandro glanced down at her.
“We’ll have you out of here in no time, Skylar,” he murmured.
He wasn’t smiling, but there was a gleam of something in his eyes, and she read it as grim triumph. Because weren’t they in a battle here, she and Sandro, and weren’t they hunkered down in their positions?
Her job was to wear him down, break through his resistance, get him to overcome his misguided sense of honor and admit that he wanted her more than he wanted to be true to Tony’s memory.
His job, on the other hand, was to hold his line until he could get rid of her, and then he could go back to his brooding and lonely life.
And what did all that mean?
It came down to this, she decided.
If she won, then they both won.
If he won, then all was lost, for both of them.
Then why was she being coy and beating around the bush? How many chances did she think she was going to get if she didn’t break out of her comfort zone sometime soon?
Sometime…like now?
Bolstered by her growing determination, she looked him dead in the eye. “You don’t want me out of here,” she said, “and we both know it.”
Something unidentifiable flared in his expression—Surprise? Panic? Passion?—and then a shout from one of the men jarred them back to their surroundings.
“Look out!”
For one suspended second, nothing happened. Skylar and the others glanced wildly around, trying to come up to speed and wondering what the alarm was for. The branch was off the car, dangling at the end of the crane, and there was nothing terrifying about that.
Only it wasn’t the
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