drawing. “It’s the largest room in the house, with southern windows. They have storm shutters, of course. The master bedroom is here.” She tapped on the drawing.
She’d purposefully roughed in some furniture. In the case of the bedroom, she’d drawn a circular bed like the one in the captain’s cabin on Bachelor’s Delight.
“There are two more smaller bedrooms and an elevator in one of the spires to take you to an observation deck.” Again she pointed. “With the pool here, the observation deck, and an outside kitchen, I think you’ll be able to throw some fabulous parties.”
When his silence continued, she ventured a look at him only to discover that he was staring at her, not even focused on the drawings.
And that stare made every synapse in her body fire at the same moment. Was this fear or something else? Something so unwanted it frightened her. How could she find him attractive? How could she be drawn to him?
He’d ruined her life with the stories he’d told of Colton’s drug use. He’d stood by the day Caleb Tate had publicly called her a slut. He was gruff and silent and damaged. And he was the kind of domineering person that Momma had married.
She took a small step back, trying to escape the aura that had so utterly captured her attention. “Okay. So I’m getting the impression you don’t like these ideas,” she managed to croak.
“Where on earth did you get the idea I wanted to throw parties out there?”
“Well, um.” She took a deep breath. “I may have drawn some conclusions from your yacht. It looks like the quintessential party boat.”
“My yacht?” He seemed utterly surprised.
She nodded. “You know, the black leather, the gold faucets, the red bedspread in the captain’s quarters—”
“You looked at the captain’s quarters?”
She blushed for no reason at all. “I poked around below decks. Just to get a sense of your style.”
His lips pressed together briefly before he asked, “And the castle walls?”
“You said you wanted sea walls. You said you wanted…” She swallowed back the rest of her defense and took a deep breath. “Um, look. I’m sorry. You obviously don’t like these concepts. Maybe I should go.”
She reached for the drawings, intent on putting them away and hiding them forever. But before she could shove any of them into her portfolio, he grabbed her by the wrist.
His fingers were warm and just a little rough. They branded her skin in an oddly gentle way. He’d violated her space, and yet his touch wasn’t entirely unwelcome.
Startled by her own reaction, she tried to pull away, but he held her firm for one exquisite moment. “Leave the drawings. But we need to—”
“No!” She pulled her arm out of his grasp as her senses returned. She needed to protect herself. She needed to put distance between them.
He let her go without a struggle, allowing her to pick up the portfolio and run for her life.
Chapter Six
Topher stood in the doorway of the cottage, watching Jessica run away as if escaping a monster.
Which wasn’t far from the truth. His face was certainly hideous enough to be called monstrous, having been rearranged by shattered glass and shards of shrapnel. And he’d acted like a beast. He should never have touched her.
He turned away from the door and returned to the table, where he stared at her renderings for a long moment.
He’d asked for a big wall to keep the winds out, hadn’t he? And he’d told her that Granddad wanted a structure that would eclipse Howland House.
She’d certainly given him all of that.
He almost laughed out loud about the party house concept. Maybe he should have told her that Bachelor’s Delight had been purchased only a few months ago from one of his business partners—a swinger who’d partied like there was no tomorrow.
Erik Sokal would have loved the party deck, but Topher had no desire to hold parties. Unless it was for a pack of children who wanted to swim in the cove, or play pirate in a bunch of dinghies, or sit around a campfire telling ghost stories about the old lighthouse keepers.
No. He didn’t like her design because it wasn’t him. It was some other person he’d become. Someone he hardly recognized. The real Christopher Martin wanted nothing except to turn back time.
He wanted to escape into those days before Granddad had died. Before he’d wrecked his knee before his sophomore year at Bama and ended his NFL dreams. Before the deer had appeared in the headlights.