Falling for Jack (Falling In Love) - By Christina Carlisle Page 0,5
We’re just out of range. You won’t be able to use your phone from now on.”
His heart softened at the stricken expression on her face and he realized she was frightened. Of course she would be. Stuck out here with a strange man who might take advantage of her.
He took a sip of coffee. “Look, it will be dusk in about an hour. Here’s what I suggest we do.” He nodded toward the island. “I’ve got a holiday home over there. We can row over in the dinghy and stay there for the night. At least, we can have a shower and there are beds to sleep in. Then in the morning, I’ll get Jezebel started and we’ll be on our way.”
“Are there other houses on the island—other people?”
“No. But I have provisions that I keep there. Also, there will be hot water and cool drinks as soon as I get the generator going.”
He held her gaze as her green eyes probed his in the fading light. He knew she was considering whether she could trust him. He wondered if he could trust himself. She was gorgeous, her hair a blonde cloud around her heart-shaped face and her eyes huge as she studied him.
“All right,” she agreed. “There doesn’t seem much else we can do. I’ll pay you extra money for the use of your home.”
Jack didn’t answer as he threw the dregs of his coffee overboard. Did everything have to come down to money with this woman? It was getting under his skin.
He gathered some items of clothing and toiletries from the cabin and, glancing at the galley, was surprised to find it spotless with all of the dishes and pans washed and neatly stacked on the shelves. Impressive. He had never seen Jezebel’s galley so clean.
Lowering the dinghy into the water, he loaded one of Lara’s cases after she had checked and repacked what she needed. He then rowed them effortlessly across the short stretch of water to the shore.
Carrying her case, he led the way from the beach, through some trees then stood back. With a dramatic wave of his arm, he indicated the cottage in the clearing wondering what her reaction would be.
“There you go, Lara. Welcome to my luxurious holiday home.”
Two
She was stunned into silence as she gaped at the ramshackle house before her. Although it was a reasonable size and made of sturdy wooden planks fastened together in a haphazard way, the cottage tilted oddly and appeared about to fall over. A rickety veranda surrounded three sides, and there was even a chimney, also leaning to one side at a precarious angle. It was as if she had walked into the middle of a Grimm’s fairy tale. Did a witch live there? A tiny, overgrown garden lay in the front with the remainder of the house closed in by native shrubs and trees.
“This is my home-away-from-home. I built it with my own hands,” Jack said, a ring of pride in his voice as, lifting Lara’s case, he walked toward the entrance.
She trailed uncertainly behind him and climbed the few uneven steps to the porch as he swung the door open almost causing it to fall from its hinges.
“There you go.” Once again he flung out his arm in a dramatic gesture as she peeped cautiously inside the dimly lit room. The last of the sun’s rays emphasized the layers of dust as it slanted across the fireplace and sparsely furnished living room. At the end of the room was a dining table and chairs and beyond that, a small kitchen with a heavy iron stove and antiquated fridge.
Without stopping, he led the way along a short, narrow passage and into a bedroom containing a double bed and mattress. He placed Lara’s case on the bed. She flinched as a large and very startled spider scurried across the mattress and disappeared.
“You can have this room, seeing you’re the paying guest.” He turned to her with a dazzling smile, his teeth brilliant white in his tanned face. “There’s a smaller bedroom across the passage, which I can use.” With an innocent expression he added, “It’s quite big inside, isn’t it?”
At last, she found her voice. “I can’t stay here. It’s filthy. You’re crazy to suggest it.” She knew her face had to express a look of horror as she placed a finger into the dust on the tiny dressing table.
“Oh, I know it’s not up to the standard of your posh rental and it needs a