Free The Boat Builder's Bed by Kris Pearson Page A

her gaze. “I’ll explain some time. You might not like the answer.”
    He glanced up the road to where a lone pink Vespa kept company with a Harley and a Suzuki in the nearly deserted bike park. “So that’s yours?”
    “All mine.”
    “Are you going to be safe on it?”
    She sent him a withering look. “You were the barman. You know how much I drank—or didn’t drink. I did so much talking I didn’t get more than a few sips.” She drew a deep breath and let it out in a noisy sigh. “Rafe, I’m absolutely wrecked. You weren’t serious about dinner, were you? After the big lunch and those nibbles I’m barely hungry anyway.”
    “Tomorrow then?”  
    “Not dinner—you know how I feel about being seen in public together—but maybe I could spend some more time prowling around the house and taking measurements later in the afternoon if you’re free? Are you safe to drive?”
    “My mean boss said her bar-staff weren’t allowed to drink.”
    She sent him a wry grin at that and set down her bag, twisted her long hair up into a rough topknot and dragged the helmet down over it.  
    “I’ll see you tomorrow then. I can’t wait to phone Mom.”
    “And have a little boast?
    “Got it.” She slammed the visor down on the helmet before he could quiz her further, picked up her bag and headed off towards her pink Vespa.

    Rafe stood on the now-quiet sidewalk, fingering the earring in his pocket and watching her walk away. He considered his progress so far. Not falling at his feet, that was for sure. Not even saying no and meaning maybe. She was self-contained. Coolly aloof. With just an occasional smile that promised—what? Not much yet.  
    But now he’d found such an intriguing woman there was a tug of war to follow. His whole body hungered. If he had to use a few wiles to attract her, well, sex was a game and a damn fine one.  
    As Sophie buzzed off up Thorndon Quay he pulled the earring from his pocket and stood in the late sunshine, tossing the little jewel from hand to hand. It had been an absolute impulse to lift it, and of course she’d ‘find’ it without difficulty, but it pleased him to have it as ammunition.
    It fell silver side up, then blue side up.  
    Heads she will, tails she won’t.

CHAPTER SEVEN

    Sophie waved farewell at the last intersection and smiled at his goodbye toot. He was gone, and just as well. The last thing she needed was for him to overhear her talking to Camille.  
    As soon as she’d set the Vespa on its stand she pulled off her crash helmet, breathed a sigh of relief and dashed along the path.
    The rose-perfume pooled sensuously in the sheltered porch. The wind had died away as it often did in the evenings. It would be beautiful at his house tonight; shame she wouldn’t be there to enjoy it.
    Her mobile’s ring-tone sounded as she jiggled the key into the lock. She glanced at the caller ID and smiled.
    “Hi Sweetie.” She edged inside and let her helmet slide down onto the sofa.
    “You can have Camille in a moment,” her mother’s excited voice said. “I want you first. How did it go? I’m bursting to hear.”
    “You should have waited for me to phone you,” Sophie admonished, thinking of Nancy’s tight finances. “Now I’m officially in business for myself I can claim my calls as a legitimate expense.”
    “So how did it go?”her mother repeated  
    “Hmmm...just about the best day of my life. The studio opening was amazing— so many people turned up for a look.”
    “And a free drink and nibble, I suppose?”
    “Yes Mom, but it worked. Someone gave me a dozen bottles of champagne, and the biggest new job you can imagine!”
    “Slow down, darling. Free champagne?”
    “Real French stuff, too. And I went out for lunch, and met a city councilor who’s buying an apartment and might want that decorated, and—”
    “Was the champagne from the city councilor?”
    “No Mom, not him, another man.” She hesitated for a moment, then hurtled on. “You