The Player - By Rhonda Nelson Page 0,24
recent lust said. “There you are.” Looking fresh and well rested and entirely too sexy for a woman dressed in an ugly flannel shirt, Audrey gestured to a wide assortment of gear at her hiking-boot clad feet. “Would you mind helping me with this stuff?”
“Sure,” Jamie told her. He easily gathered a couple folding chairs and wooden easels into his arms, leaving her to tote a small bag he assumed held the rest of their painting necessities.
She shot him a curiously hesitant look. “Have you been up long?”
“A grand total of twenty-two minutes. Twenty of which were spent in the shower.”
She smiled and inclined her head. “Ah,” she sighed. “Slept well or barely slept?”
“Oh, I slept well.”
“Good. Did you have time for breakfast?”
“Er…does thinking about it count?”
“No.”
“Then no, I didn’t have time for breakfast.”
She shook her head. “Bad soldier,” she chided. “My grandfather wouldn’t approve. How does a muffin and some fruit sound?”
Not as good as a half a pound of bacon and a Spanish omelet, but better than nothing, he supposed, grateful nonetheless. “Good, thanks.” What? Was she packing breakfast in that bag? he wondered.
Giving him a look he grimly suspected meant she’d somehow read his mind, Audrey grinned and grabbed the radio attached to her waist. “Do you want anything to drink?”
“A beer would be nice.”
“Not for breakfast. How does tomato juice sound?”
“Nasty. Can I have coffee?”
Eyes twinkling, she bit her lip. “Sure.” She placed his order and asked that it be brought down to the lake. “There we go,” she said. “Henry should be down in a few minutes.”
“Thank you,” he said, and meant it. It had been a long time since anyone had cared whether or not he’d eaten his Wheaties.
“No problem. Besides, it’ll help metabolize that alcohol and get you over your hangover.”
Startled, Jamie almost stumbled over his own feet. “I’m sorry.”
She darted him a sly look over her shoulder. “No need to apologize.”
“I wasn’t apologizing. I just—” He chewed the inside of his cheek and, equally impressed and disturbed, considered her. “How did you know?”
She stopped at a level spot behind a rather thick copse of trees and dropped her bag, then took the chairs away from him. “Well, number one, you slept late and you’re a military man—granted, one that’s not currently in service—” she said before he could interrupt because he’d instantly readied his mouth for argument. “I know that’s not the norm.”
Good observation, he had to admit. Still, it wasn’t enough to deduce a hangover.
She made quick work of setting up the chairs. “Secondly, you skipped breakfast and you appear entirely too health conscious to make that a regular habit.”
On the money again, Jamie thought, feeling more and more transparent.
“Would you mind setting those up?”
He blinked. “Huh?”
She gestured toward the easels, forgotten in his hand. “Set those up, would you?”
Right, Jamie thought, jolting into action. His cheeks heated with embarrassment. Here she was doing all the work, while he stood rooted to the ground, marvelling over her ability to read him like a friggin’ book. Good grief. He had to get his head out of his ass and into the game.
“And thirdly,” she said, shooting him a mischievous smile. “You look like shit.”
Since he was more accustomed to accepting compliments than criticism, the blunt insult took him completely by surprise, jarring a disbelieving chuckle loose from his throat. “Don’t hold back,” he told her dryly. “Tell me how you really feel.”
She shrugged. “You asked me how I knew,” she said. “Don’t ask if you don’t want to know.”
Utterly intrigued by her, he pushed a hand through his hair and nodded. “Duly noted. Anything else I should know?”
“Nothing.” She paused, then seemed to remember something important. “Oh, wait. Erm…I might have seen you on your front porch last night with that bottle of Jameson.”
A slow smile spread across his lips. Ah, he thought. The heart of the matter. Now that made more sense. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
She handed him a watercolor pad. “I might have heard that once or twice.”
“Or more.”
She nodded. “Or more.”
Feeling like he’d moved back onto solid ground, Jamie flipped the pad open and arranged it onto the easel. He thought about pretending to know what to do next, but ultimately decided against it. What was the point? She knew perfectly well he didn’t have any damned idea how to paint. “Okay. What now?”
Audrey bent down by the water’s edge and filled two plastic cups. Now here was a perk, Jamie thought. She might be