Allie stepped back, nodding. Her throat had gone thick; she wasn’t sure she’d be able to speak. Turning, she grasped the deck railing and stared out at the lake, deep navy in the twilight, and told herself to get a grip, not to ruin a pure sexual encounter with any silly mooning. She’d just accept the emotion for what it was—inappropriate romanticism—and quietly put it away.
The temperature had dropped some, but not enough to explain her sudden need to cover up again. She pulled the dress back over her head, feeling warmer, yes, but also safer, once more cool and confident. When Jonas came back out in clean shorts, carrying two blankets, she was even able to smile brightly.
“You sleeping under the stars tonight?”
“Want to join me?”
Sleeping in his arms all night out on the beach? She’d wake up stiff, cold and even more infatuated. “I don’t think so, but thanks.”
He nodded as if he’d been expecting her refusal. “Don’t want to give away the farm?”
She laughed, relieved and touched by his easy acceptance. “That’s what Josephine would say.”
“Would you like to lie on the beach for just a while to watch the stars that we won’t be sleeping under?”
“I’d love that.”
“Good.” He handed her a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. “I brought these if you’d like to rejoin our not-so-stylish but machine-washable century.”
“I think that’s a good idea.” She took the clothes from him. “I’ll change in the house.”
Immediately, she felt like an idiot. They’d just gone crazy on each other, and she was modest now?
“No, no, stay here. I’ll take the blankets down to the beach. I promise, no peeking.” He hoisted the blankets and stepped off the deck. “Maybe.”
Allie laughed. “I’ll bring the champagne with me.”
“Excellent idea.” He walked down toward the water, then whipped his head around as if hoping to catch her undressed.
“Hey! Eyes forward, soldier!”
She undressed and dressed quickly, watching him not because she was worried he’d peek again, but because his broad shoulders and most stunning butt were so appealing, and the way his tall body moved gracefully across the sand was a real pleasure.
When she arrived at the water’s edge with the champagne and glasses, naked under the T-shirt and drawstring shorts, which were threatening to fall at any second, Jonas had already spread the blanket and was lying comfortably on it, hands clasped behind his head.
“Champagne service! This hotel has everything.”
“Yes sir.” She nodded somberly, thinking these roles were more suited to who they really were. “I hope you have been pleased with my service and will remember my twelve children and unemployed drunk husband.”
“Tough break. You poor thing.” He patted the blanket next to him. “Maybe I can make it all better.”
“Thank you, sir.” She nestled the bucket in the sand and poured them each a new glass, then crawled onto the blanket next to him.
“Here’s to tonight’s most wonderful activities.” In the last rays of evening light, his eyes were tender and warm. After a few seconds, Allie looked away as if the lake were a preferable view, afraid he’d see too much.
She couldn’t imagine a preferable view.
“So, I have a manipulative great-grandmother, huh?” He leaned back on one hand, glass in the other, a perfect combination of virility and elegance. The guy had it all.
“Josephine knew what she wanted, and how to get it. Apparently there was a guy named Walter she’d decided to marry.”
“She did.”
“Really!” Allie was delighted. “I didn’t get that far. Good for her.”
“They had the five children.”
“How did this property come down to you and Erik if there are that many relatives running around?”
“It’s sad, actually. Two of mom’s great-aunts and -uncles—Josephine’s children—died, one in childhood, the other before marriage, so no kids there. One moved abroad and settled, and I think the other just wasn’t interested. So it was just Grandma Bridget who hung on to Morningside. Mom was her only child.”
“Wow. There’s a lot of family history here. I don’t see how you can chuck it.”
“It won’t be easy.” He drained his glass, lay down and put a hand on her back. “Join me?”
“Sure.” She dug her glass into the sand and lay down next to him, their hips, thighs and shoulders touching. He covered them with the second blanket.
“Not many stars out yet. We’ll have to stay a while.”
Allie grinned in the gathering darkness. “I guess so.”
“Good, because there’s a lot I want to know about you.”
She stiffened. “Such as...”
“Erik said you grew up in Brooklyn.”
“Yes.” She felt the usual shame creep into her body. Talking about her childhood was an exercise in revisiting pain. So many people stuffed into such a small place, filthy and roach-ridden. The yelling. The drinking. Her father leaving for his rich girlfriend. Her brothers’ subsequent anger and wild rebellion. Her mother’s decline. The enormous responsibility Allie felt for keeping the family peaceful and afloat. The enormous determination she had to escape that life and never look back.
“What area? Park Slope?”
“Not far from there.” Yeah, right. Only a world away. Park Slope had become trendy and expensive, salon blondes pushing designer strollers past sushi shops in neatly kept brownstones, lattes in hand. Nothing like her neighborhood in Kensington, where kids hung out on the stoops and yelled, jostled for control, for power, and harassed passersby. You had to have a pretty tough mouth and attitude.
Allie had learned to speak without an accent from TV, watching news and movies and squeaky-clean sitcoms. She might come from that neighborhood, but she wasn’t going to look or act or sound as if she did.
“Where did you grow up?”
“Long Island. Town called Old Westbury.”
Allie forced a laugh, freezing inside. She shouldn’t be surprised, though Erik had never mentioned the town. Old Westbury was one of the wealthiest towns in the country. Vanderbilts and Du Ponts and Winthrops lived there...and Meyers apparently. Her father had taken her driving there once, pointing out the various immense estates, telling her not to settle for her mother’s life, that he hadn’t and that she shouldn’t either.