a professional distance.”
But hadn’t she done that very thing until the moment when she wasn’t distant from him? Until she found herself lips-to-lips, her blood running hot and crazy through her veins, every notion of self-preservation washed away in a flood of desire?
“And now that I think of it,” Charlie continued, “the arrival of his sister works to your benefit.”
“Yes?” That sounded hopeful.
“She’s the perfect buffer.” Charlie pointed her forefinger at Sara. “You stick close to the kid, and she’ll stay between you and her brother. You’ll be over this infatuation in no time.”
Sara repeated the words. “Stick close to the kid. I’ll be over this infatuation in no time.”
And on that note, she said goodbye to her friend and started off down the beach in the direction of Nueva Vida, a new lightness to her steps.
Charlie was on to something, Sara decided, by labeling her interest in Joaquin an infatuation. She didn’t actually know the man in any real sense, right? So of course she was experiencing nothing more than an inconsequential, nothing-to-worry-about fleeting fixation. It was a crush, a simple crush. Superficial. Like a scratch, one that would close by the end of the day.
To make matters even better, soon after Sara arrived back at the house, Essie unwittingly cooperated in her role as buffer. The teen planted herself on one of the stools in the kitchen while Sara set about making a vegetable soup for lunch by chopping garlic, onion, carrots, and asparagus.
As the girl settled, Sara paused to smile at her. “Did you sleep well? Did you get enough to eat for breakfast?” The food she’d left out had been demolished.
“Oh, sure.” Essie planted an elbow on the countertop and her small chin in her hand. “Thanks.”
Sara’s peripheral vision registered movement, and she turned her head to see Joaquin mounting the steps from the beach to the deck, a newspaper under his arm. Dressed in lightweight wrinkled khakis and a white T-shirt, he stretched out on a lounge chair and began reading. Objectively, he was beyond handsome, his features even and etched, his tall body masculine and muscled.
No wonder he kindled that little fire in her belly, she thought.
No wonder she could imagine herself snuggled beside him on the cushions, her cheek nestled in the cup where his shoulder met his chest and her fingers spider-walking along the taut skin over his ribs as she tried to distract him from the latest business news. He’d send her a mock-annoyed glance first, and then he’d sigh, fold up the paper, and toss it to the side.
His gaze would cut to her face again. “What?” he’d demand, but he’d be smiling.
“I’m bored,” Essie declared.
Sara started, yanked out of her fantasy by the girl. Oh God, she wasn’t supposed to be mooning over the man! She was supposed to be keeping her lusty feelings on a tight leash!
Thankful for being pulled from the dangerous direction of her thoughts, she re-focused on Essie. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
The teen shrugged. “I’m bored.”
Bored? Sara thought. Try growing up in a small, rural town with grandparents watching and waiting for you to get into trouble. “Aren’t your friends coming over?”
“Pretty soon,” Essie acknowledged, then stifled a large yawn with the palm of her hand.
“Do you have schoolwork that needs to get done? You could take care of that while you wait.”
The teen shook her head. “School’s on a break. I go to this year-round, girls-only, nunnery kind of place. It’s like my parents have something against a true summer vacation, not to mention my normal adolescent development. It’s wrong to separate the sexes, you know. There are studies.”
Sara wanted to laugh at Essie’s grandly aggrieved tone, though separating the sexes wasn’t such a terrible idea, to her mind. She cast a glance out the windows to check on Joaquin again, even though she shouldn’t. Yes, it was his physique that fascinated her, she concluded. All those long bones and interesting ripples would affect any woman.
Clearing her throat, she returned her attention to the teen. “You’re not allowed to date, then?”
“Oh, I have a boyfriend.” The girl picked up a lock of her long dark hair and closely inspected the ends. Her nails were painted like slices of watermelon. Green at the tips with pink centers complete with tiny black seeds. “His name is Zachary.”
“Is he coming over today?” That might be a worry. If Essie had a “boyfriend” without her parents’ approval, they likely wouldn’t want him visiting here.
“No. He’s on