“Do you hear that, Bean? Think Black Irish and you can’t go wrong.”
“Hang on a minute. Let’s not rush to the Walker side just yet. I think The Bean would be doing herself a disservice if she missed out on your nose. And she definitely needs your mouth.” His gaze dropped to her lips.
“Fine. But she has to get everything else from you. Including your hair.”
“Again, what’s wrong with your hair?”
“It’s dead straight. And it’s the color of a well-known rodent.”
“It’s brown. Mink brown.”
“Minks are rodents, too.”
His gaze was intense now. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Your sisters are beautiful. Why wouldn’t I want her to take after them?”
“You’re beautiful, too.”
Charlie let her gaze slide over his shoulder. She knew what he was doing—being kind, his usual charming self.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly, because she’d read somewhere that it was always polite to acknowledge compliments. Not that she’d had a lot of practice, but still.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” Rhys asked, his frown deepening.
“I think—” She jerked to the side as a big fat bee flew into view and hovered near his shoulder. “Shit.”
“It’s okay. He won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt him.”
“I’m allergic,” she said tightly, pressing herself into the ground.
Rhys immediately rolled onto his back, luring the bee with him. She watched as he shooed it gently away, and finally it flew off to search for less vigilant prey.
“Thanks,” she said. “He probably wasn’t going to hurt me, but being stung still worries me.”
Rhys resumed his position, took one look at her and started laughing. She blinked.
“I’m beginning to think you have a twisted sense of humor.”
“Sorry. You got some grass in your hair just now, that’s all.”
She gave him a look. “How old are you?”
“Old enough to appreciate when someone looks funny. It looks as though a little bird has made his home on your head.”
She reached up to brush the grass away. “Has it gone?”
“Nope, not all of it.”
He was enjoying himself hugely at her expense. She started to sit up.
“Relax. I’ll get it.” He reached across and brushed at her hair. Unable to hold his gaze at such close quarters, her eyes drifted to his jaw, then, somehow, to his mouth. She traced his full bottom lip with her eyes, marveling that it could be both masculine and soft looking at the same time. Sometimes, if she closed her eyes and let herself be very foolish, she could still remember how he tasted. How it had felt to have those lips on her skin…
She realized that Rhys had long since stopped brushing her hair and she lifted her gaze. He was watching her, his dark eyes intent.
“Charlie,” he said, his voice very low.
His thumb brushed her cheek, then he lowered his face toward her. She acted in instinctive, panicky self-defense, lifting a hand to his chest to halt his descent.
“What are you doing?” she squeaked.
“Kissing you?”
“No.”
He pulled back a few inches. “You don’t want me to kiss you?”
“I think it’s a really bad idea.”
He tilted his head a fraction of an inch. “That’s not the same as not wanting me to kiss you.”
“It might as well be.”
“Are you telling me that you haven’t thought about it? About us, together?”
An image popped into her mind, inspired by his words. Rhys between her legs, filling her with his heat and hardness, his mouth at her breasts.
“No,” she lied.
He stared at her. He was leaning over her, blocking out the sun, filling almost all her vision, and it was impossible to avoid his searching gaze.
“No,” she said again.
Then, because she was afraid that what willpower and common sense she possessed were hanging by a rapidly unraveling thread, she pushed him away and wriggled to the side until she could sit upright without banging heads with him.
“We should go.” She collected the empty containers, stuffing them all into the bag they’d come in. Then she rose and started up the hill.
She didn’t look back. She knew exactly what she was walking away from. She knew she was doing the right thing, too. But knowing didn’t make it any easier.
RHYS WATCHED CHARLIE walk away from him and tried to work out what had happened between them. She had wanted him. He’d seen it in her eyes. Yet she’d lied to him, told him she never thought about the two of them together.
“Bullshit,” he said under his breath. He scrambled to his feet, scooped up the beach towel and went after her.
She was dumping their garbage in a bin when he