As for Sandra, she’d be fine. She was always fine. Life’s speed bumps—in her case molded by her own poor choices—might slow her down, but they never stopped her. Jonas wasn’t in love with her, would never be in love with her, and she probably never would have been truly in love with him. Darn it. He had it all—looks, money, sex appeal, money, charm, money, intelligence, money... She’d taken care of herself since she left her rebellious mistake of a marriage at age twenty-two, after sticking with it for five miserable years, mostly out of stubborn pride. The subsequent decision to live her life doing what she loved, even if it paid garbage, had been hers and hers alone, and she’d made it understanding the consequences. Unless she managed to marry rich, no cushy retirement in a tropical resort for her.
At the bottom of the stairs, her smile widened. She resisted the urge to rub her hands together and cackle. Who would be up this morning and what would the atmosphere be like in this very promising soap opera? It was ten-thirty. Jonas had most likely been awake for hours already. She didn’t know Erik’s and Allie’s schedules.
A glance into the kitchen showed Erik, alone, surrounded by white and stainless steel that reminded her of her mother’s taste. So cold, so uninviting, in spite of the wonderful cinnamon smell. Her dream kitchen would be all bright colors and cheerful pictures and cartoons on the refrigerator.
She smiled at Erik, slumped over a cup of coffee at the generous kitchen island, hair endearingly mussed. Tsk-tsk, somebody hadn’t slept well. “Well, hello, Erik. I see you’re a bright-eyed early bird like me.”
“Never miss a sunrise.” He waved heavily toward the coffeepot on the white counter. “The lifeblood is ready, help yourself. There are cinnamon rolls, too. Clarissa provided them. She’s our caretaker’s wife.”
“Ah, your caretaker. Is that like a babysitter?”
He rubbed his eyes as if his head hurt. “Ha ha.”
“I know, I know, I’m hilarious.” She poured herself coffee, glancing at him now and then, the great Meyer womanizer, not the arrogant jerk she expected, not quite. His type got lucky by being the nonthreatening buddy, the cute little brother. Then when women were lulled into feeling safe, bam, pants around the ankles. “Allie still asleep?”
“God, no. She gets up at dawn like my brother.” His grumpy jealousy was painfully obvious. “They’re probably starting their second marathon of the morning.”
Sandra shuddered comically. “It’s a sickness.”
“I’m telling you...”
“And what do they get out of it? Great bodies, good health, energy, long life...”
“Exactly.” He brought his hand down on the table. “Total waste of time.”
Sandra sipped her coffee, which was predictably excellent, pondering her next move. Talk to him about Allie now? Or stick with the small talk? Maybe she could do both. “So what’s your plan for today, Erik?”
“I’m going to show Allie around the property.”
“Uh...” Sandra gestured toward the cottage and beach. “I’m guessing she’s seen most of it.”
He gave a grunt of irritation. “Yeah, well, I’ll show her the attic. There are trunks of old clothes up there that belonged to my mom’s family going back generations. Allie is a designer. I told her she could have them.”
“Cool.” She sipped more coffee, judging him and the situation, then decided to risk it. “You like this Allie woman, huh?”
“Maybe.” He met her eyes, his so much like Jonas’s, but without that steady graveness. His looked ready to dance, though at the moment they were tinged with bitterness. “What’s it to you?”
“Me?” She leaned forward as if to whisper. “I’m crazed with jealousy.”
Erik cracked a smile. “Yeah, get in line.”
“I hear there is one.”
“Who told you that?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Guess.”
“Got it.” He held her gaze this time, his suddenly bold. “I like women.”
“Uh-huh.” Sandra sipped her coffee, annoyed that his macho act had given her a little thrill of response. She’d seen men playing this role so many times, she should know better. “So why Allie? What’s special about her?”
“You want to know because of how I feel or because of the way Jonas was looking at her last night?”
“What do you think?”
“Not sure.” He narrowed his eyes. “I haven’t figured you out yet.”
She snorted. “Good luck with that. Tell me about Allie.”
“She’s...” He frowned. “Different.”
“From?”
“Other women.”
“She used to be a man?”
“What?” Erik nearly choked on his coffee. “God, no.”
“How do you know?”
He was laughing now, looking much more handsome than when he’d been grumpy. His eyes were back to dancing. “Actually, you’re right. I don’t.”
“So you mean she’s different from your usual type.”
“Yeah. She’s not...” He pushed his hand through his hair, making it rise to new levels of bedhead. “She’s got this innocence about her that is really, really sexy.”
Oh, for— It was all Sandra could do to keep from making gagging noises. “Ah. You’re one of those guys.”
“What guys?”
She scoffed. “You spend your life screwing every woman you can and then insist on marrying a virgin.”
“Huh?” Erik stopped on the way to his next sip of coffee. “I’m not doing that. Am I doing that?”
“Sounds like it to me.” His dismay surprised her. Maybe no one had ever held his behavior up to him for a look. “Tell me more.”
“She’s more than just sweet and sexy, though. She’s funny and smart and sophisticated and ambitious. But also down to earth. Different from the girls I grew up with who had everything handed to them.”
“Oh, like you didn’t?”
He pointed at her accusingly. “That is not the same.”
“Because they’re women?”