Page 37 of Our Little Secret

“I do. I don’t know you. And I’m . . . I’m . . .”

“What?” he asked, seemingly amused at her discomfiture.

“Well—”

“Let me guess. Because you’re married,” he guessed.

Nodding, she said, “Yeah, I guess that’s it.”

“And he would be—what? Offended? Or . . . jealous? He’d get angry?”

She thought about Neal and wondered if he’d even care. These days Neal’s interest in her had waned. Big-time.

“Would he hurt you?” Gideon asked, his smile fading, his expression changing to concern as the first drops of rain began to fall.

Neal?“No! Never.” She shook her head vehemently. Neal was a lot of things, but violent? No.

“But he wouldn’t like it,” Gideon guessed, glancing at the sky.

“Uh—maybe not. But more likely he wouldn’t notice,” she admitted, then regretted the words. She shouldn’t confide anything to this man, this stranger.

“Oh.” He nodded, as if agreeing with himself as the dark clouds scudded in the sky. “So then why bring it back?” he asked as the rain continued, the wind picking up.

“It seemed like the right thing to do.”

“It doesn’t seem right to me. It’s a gift. And I can’t return it. It’s engraved.” He held it out, the tiny charm dangling, but she took a step back, rain starting to fall in earnest, pummeling the deck. She felt the cold drops hit the top of her head and flipped up the hood of her jacket.

“Then you keep it. Seriously. I can’t take it.”

“Look.” He held up his hands, the box still gripped between his fingers of one hand, the bracelet twined in the other. “It’s not a big deal. Nothing all that significant, okay? It’s just that I saw you looking at it just before we—you know.”

“Bumped into each other.”

“Collided,” he corrected, shouting over the wind.

“Okay, collided.” She too raised her voice.

“Hey!” He glanced at the sky. “It’s really coming down. We should go inside.”

“No. I have to go.” She took a step toward the gangplank, then looked over her shoulder. “How did you know my address?”

Again the flash of a grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I saw it when your wallet was open. Your driver’s license.”

“And you remembered it?”

“Yeah.” The boat was rocking. “Come on.” He didn’t wait for her to argue but grabbed her hand and led her down a short flight of stairs to a small cabin. Though she told herself she was crossing some invisible threshold to a point of no return, she followed. Inside was a tiny suite of wood-paneled rooms, a salon with a galley nearby, and a bathroom, or head, beneath the stairs. Through an open partition she caught sight of the foot of a bed, the head of which, she guessed, was tucked into the prow.

“Coffee? Or tea?”

“Oh no, I don’t think—”

“Wine, then, or a beer?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Definitely not. I just came by to drop off the bracelet.”

His glance told her that was a lie. “And you were curious.”

“No, I—well, maybe a little.” It seemed unreasonable to avoid the truth.

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