sense of her was that she was closer to forty than not. It wasn't so much the way she looked—he was staring at her now in the brutal midday sun and she looked phenomenal—but the way she was. She had an edge. She'd been around. She gave the impression of someone with nothing to lose.
He held the sailboard in an awkward grip to keep it from drifting away. "Okay, just step from there into the skiff," he commanded.
Or not. "That looks tricky," she said, demurring. "Why don't I wait in the water for you to load the sailboard, and then you can help me into the boat."
"Suit yourself." Which one was she, anyway: Joan or Norah? Surely the Norah.
The board was heavy. He wondered who had launched it for her. With a grunt, he pulled it out of the water and into the skiff, then turned to her.
"Okay, alley-up." He hooked his hands under her arms, trying not to notice her glistening breasts floating more or less free of the tiny top she wore.
Gripping the side of the hull, she ducked low in the water for momentum, and then rose up like a goddess, letting him help her, unnecessarily, the rest of the way into the boat.
"Very nice," he said. Even he didn't know what he meant.
"I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't come out to get me," she said, flashing him a dazzling grin.
His own smile was sardonic. "Something tells me you'd have managed."
"Probably," she agreed, not bothering to seem humble. After he shifted the boat back into gear, she stuck her hand out to him and said, "Thanks. Now tell me why you're avoiding us all."
He shook her hand and said dryly, "How so? I make a point of nodding to every person I pass."
"Mr. Hawke, you know what I mean. You have the whole town too intimidated to approach you."
"Except you, apparently."
"I'm special."
"Apparently."
God, this isn't what he wa nted at all. She was some mind- boggling diversion thrown in his path when all he wanted was to get to Maddie.
Norah shivered and moved her butt closer to his on the center thwart. "It's still so cold this time of year," she said with a much too innocuous smile.
He'd been nudged meaningfully by women before. She was coming on to him, he couldn't imagine why.
He was still trying to figure it out when she cut to the chase. "I gather that Mr. Mendoza has told you about our interest in acquiring and moving the lighthouse," she said forth rightly. "Does that present a problem for you?"
He shrugged. "Not once I'm out of it. My lease is only for four months."
She shaped her lips into a fetching pout and said, "But that's just it. We can't really get a nonprofit foundation up and running without potential donors being able to go through the property and see its historic value. They'd want to touch the merchandise, so to speak." She smiled under lowered lashes. "You can understand why."
You betcha , he found himself thinking.
His glance slid from her to the sweep of horizon, then came to rest on little Rosedale cottage with its knee-high picket fence, just then coming into view. The endearing image, as precious as a picture postcard, was burned into his brain by now. He was as amazed as anyone that it held more allure for him than the seductress at his side.
The thought of Maddie standing by her roses made him impatient with distractions, no matter how worthy or well shaped. "What is it you want from me, Ms. ... Mills?" he asked as her last name popped into his head.
If she was put off by the formality, she didn't show it. She nuzzled her hip a little closer into his and said, "What I—we—envisioned is a series of fundraising events. A wine and cheese gathering at the lighthouse with a couple of speeches ... a picnic or two on the beach, each with a tour ... a morning coffee? They're all the rage in Washington —"
"No. No, no. No series of events. One event. An opener. That's all. Cocktails and a tour and out they go. Anything else would be massively disruptive."
She didn't ask what they'd be disrupting, and he didn' t say.