inside the house drifted through the open windows into the still night air. He could hear the sounds of the Bay of Fundy not far off. City boy that he was—and a mainlander—to him it sounded like the static of a radio station gone off air.
“Need some help?” he asked Eve.
She waved him off without looking at him, although her cheeks reddened noticeably in the soft glow of the yard light. Her hair was long and loose, the way he liked it, curling down the slender line of her back. A corner of one blanket trailed in the dirt behind her.
Matt’s heart trailed along with it. If she ever wanted him even a fraction as much as Matt wanted her, he’d consider himself a lucky man.
“I can manage.” She tossed the blankets into the back of her car then looked up at him with a challenge in her pretty eyes. She fixed a hand on her hip. “Well? Are you coming or not?”
Whatever she was planning, it had something to do with him. Matt bit the inside of his cheek to hide his satisfaction. He loped down the steps, his long legs taking them two at a time.
“I wouldn’t miss this.”
The moon was bright and full and yellow, lighting their path as they drove down the narrow, winding dirt road that dipped from her parents’ home to a deserted beach strewn with rocks and boulders. The waters of the bay stroked against the night sky—gleaming obsidian beneath black velvet.
Eve parked at the breakwater and turned off the engine. “The tide’s out,” she said. “Good thing, because I never thought to check the schedule.”
“Does it make a difference?”
“Yes.” She slanted a look at him. “The Bay of Fundy has the highest recorded tides in the world. When it’s in, there isn’t any beach. And it comes in fast.” She opened her car door and took off her shoes. “Do you want to bring the blankets?”
Blankets, a beautiful woman, and a moonlit, deserted beach. All signs indicated he was being romanced. He crossed his fingers.
The night air was cool and fresh, and tasted like salt. Seals barked off in the distance. Matt took off his shoes and followed after Eve, the blankets bundled in his arms.
Skipping nimbly from rock to rock, she quickly outdistanced him. She wobbled once, and he held his breath until, with arms outstretched, she righted herself. It was so typical of her—to go running ahead without a thought for danger, not waiting to see if maybe he might like to hold her hand to make sure she was safe.
A large, flat boulder, tilted at one end like a table with two shortened legs, jutted out from the cliff wall. She clambered up, then turned to laugh at his slower progress as he picked his way carefully toward her by the pale light of the moon. A slight breeze lifted her hair.
Matt stopped to enjoy the sight of her. She looked so happy and carefree, and he wondered if he could design a house that would do justice to this image, and how he felt at this moment. Eve might not care for his art, but she knew how his mind worked because hers worked the same way. She’d understand the message he was trying to convey in the design.
It took him a second to figure out what that message was.
When he did, Matt closed his eyes and tried to start breathing again. He hadn’t asked for this. He hadn’t wanted it. He hadn’t planned to fall in love with Eve…but he had. He hoped he wouldn’t be stupid enough to blurt that out at the worst possible moment, because she clearly wasn’t ready for it.
Eve might know how to say what was on her mind, but when it came to what she felt in her heart, actions spoke louder than words. Tonight was her message to him, a first step on her part, and he didn’t want to do or say anything to frighten her off.
He paused below her, then handed up the blankets. The surf pounded behind them, while the wind sighed through the trees at the top of the cliff. She touched his cheek with one cold, wet toe.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
That she looked like a siren in the moonlight, luring him onto the rocks and toward certain destruction.
But oh, baby, what a way to go.
Instead of answering her question, he hoisted his frame up beside her. The boulder was smooth beneath his hands