Confessions of a Girl-Next-Door Read online

  “That was smooth, Nathaniel. Yes, indeed. Very smooth.” Grinning, she put out a hand, offering to help him up. She looked just then very much like the impish young girl who used to take such delight in playing pranks on him.

  Nate felt like an idiot, and he knew he looked ridiculous. That didn’t stop him from clasping her palm. Nor did it prevent him from joining in her mirth as he rose and shoved the hair back from his face. The situation was funny, even if it came at his expense.

  Behind them, Hank was chortling away, too. Nate groaned. His reputation was toast. Unless he got lucky and the storm took out the phone lines and closed the locals’ favorite tavern, news of this mishap would be the talk of the island before another sunset.

  “Sorry about that. I lost my footing.” As they reached the shore, he couldn’t resist adding, “I might have maintained my balance,

  but you’ve put on a few pounds since we were kids.”

  Holly turned. Her mouth formed an indignant O as she thumped his chest with one small fist. “A gentleman isn’t supposed to say such things to a lady.”

  Her words, even though they were said in jest, caused him to sober. She was more than a lady, she was a princess. Just that quickly, the gulf between their worlds gaped wide once more.

  Hooking a thumb over his shoulder, he said, “I’d better go and give Hank a hand.”

  It took no more than fifteen minutes for Nate and the pilot to pull the plane ashore and beach it. Just to be on the safe side, they used the trunk of a big cedar tree that leaned toward the lake as a mooring. The Cessna wouldn’t be going anywhere, despite the coming storm. Nate hoped the same could be said for all of the boats and the several large yachts moored at the resort’s marina. Time would tell.

  All the while, Holly waited patiently out of the way, soaked to the skin and shivering, but no complaints passed her lips. And he’d been expecting them. When her luggage was unloaded, her expression was one of chagrin.

  “Just how long are you here for?” Nate asked, eyeing the trio of designer bags.

  A pair of delicate shoulders rose in a shrug. “Perhaps as much as a week.”

  He ran his tongue over his teeth. “A week, hmm?” He could pack for a week in one small duffel, especially this time of year.

  “I wasn’t sure what I would need,” she said.

  For a moment he forgot that he was speaking to royalty. She was simply Holly. “Tank tops, shorts, a pair of comfortable walking shoes, maybe a hoodie for cool nights and a swimsuit would do.”

  “I packed those …. And a little bit more.”

  “So I see.”

  The contents of his closet could fit in those bags, but Nate decided to give her a break. After all, he’d been around enough women to know they had a whole different definition for the word essentials.

  She reached for the smallest bag. It had wheels, not that they would do much good on the sand. “Sorry to be an imposition.”

  An interesting choice of words, to be sure.

  “Where are you staying?” he asked.

  Her expression brightened. “I’d hoped to rent the cottage Gran and I always stayed in at your parents’ resort.”

  “My parents are gone.”

  “Gone?” She looked alarmed.

  “Retired,” he clarified. “They moved to Florida four years ago.” Just after he’d returned to the island from a job at one of the swankiest hotels in Chicago.

  “The resort?”

  Normally, it would give Nate great satisfaction to claim ownership and to admit that he’d expanded the place considerably since taking over. But this was Princess Hollyn Saldani. He doubted she would be impressed.

  “I’m the owner now.”

  “Oh.” One syllable that told him how enthused she was, but he’d give her this, she rallied fast. “I was hoping to find a place available.”

  “Sorry.” He shook his head slowly, not sure whether he was relieved or disappointed. “We’re all booked up at the moment. In fact, I don’t know that there’s a vacancy anywhere on the island until after the Fourth of July.”

  Usually, given how far north the island was, its resorts weren’t full with patrons until after Independence Day. But this year, warm weather had come early and people from downstate were willing to make the drive and then the short ferry trip from Michigan’s upper peninsula to the island.

  “I wasn’t thinking. I should have made arrangements ahead of time,” she murmured. “Do you suppose there are any homes for rent on the island? I’d love to be on the water, of course, but I’ll take what I can get at this point. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  It was an interesting statement coming from a woman who was next in line to the throne of her own kingdom.

  “I don’t know of anything offhand. You can check, but given the time of day and the storm, my guess is that most places are closed for the night.” He snorted. “You know the island. Sidewalks pretty much roll up after eight o’clock.”

  He imagined she’d grown accustomed to glitzy, late-night parties with exclusive guest lists and the finest gourmet cuisine. Yet she didn’t seem bothered by the prospect of no real nightlife here.

  Her smile was nostalgic, damned near fond, when she replied, “Yes, I remember.”

  Was that really why she’d come?

  Sure, she’d told him she needed to get away, but weren’t there all sorts of fancy spas in Europe—and America, for that matter—more likely to fit the bill for a royal retreat than an out-of-the-way island that catered to the needs of middle-class tourists seeking good fishing, great scenery and a slower pace?

  Hank reached them then, toting the last of her bags.

  “Don’t worry, miss. Nate’s house has plenty of room. You can stay there at least for tonight.” He glanced at Nate for corroboration.

  What else could Nate do but nod? The quiet evening at home he’d envisioned just an hour ago now included two overnight guests. He knew from previous experience that Hank snored like a drunken sailor. Nate also knew that it was Holly who would keep him awake this night.

  CHAPTER TWO

  HOLLY wasn’t sure what to do since Nate’s invitation was begrudging at best.

  That hurt. Not that she’d expected him to greet her with arms wide open. In fact, she hadn’t been expecting to see him at all. She remembered how determined he’d been to leave the island for big-city living. But his displeasure right now was palpable, even if, for just a moment when they’d wound up sitting in the lake, he’d reminded her of the handsome young man who’d made her teenage pulse race with a simple smile.

  As tempting as it was to turn down his offer, she had to be pragmatic. As she recalled, the island had a finite number of accommodations available. She would be lucky to find anything else on such short notice, so she followed him and the pilot up the beach.

  Tomorrow, she could return to the mainland if need be. Tonight, she needed a place to stay. Jet lag was catching up with her. And that short flight over from the mainland had left her with white knuckles and a queasy stomach. In hindsight, she shouldn’t have chanced it, especially this late in the day, with no firm reservation and a storm blowing in. She’d not only risked her life, but also the life of the pilot. A fact Nate had been only too happy to point out. Despite what he must think, it wasn’t like Holly to be so thoughtless. But as with every thing the past several days, desperation had her acting out of character.

  Her hasty plan’s imperfections were glaringly obvious now. She should have been more thorough in her arrangements before packing her bags and jetting across the Atlantic. That much was clear now. What had been as transparent as glass less than forty-eight hours ago was that she had to get away.

  She caught up to Nate and glanced sideways at his stern profile. He wasn’t exactly glad to see her. But it was her own emotions that gave her pause. She wasn’t sure how she felt about seeing him again.

  Once upon a time, she’d thought … Mentally, she shook her head. It was foolish to recall those dreams.
They’d been unrealistic then. Now, they were unfathomable. Once again, she felt the grip of destiny tighten around her like a vise. There was no escaping it. Not completely, anyway, even if she hoped to find respite for a few days or a week. Holly groaned.

  She didn’t expect it to be heard over the wind, but Nate turned and asked, “Something wrong?”

  “No.”

  “No?” His brows rose.

  His wry expression and disbelieving tone came as a bit of a surprise. Back home no one would have dared to question her—well, except for her mother, who browbeat Holly regularly over the most minute of things. Holly needed to be perfect. Or at least give the illusion of perfection at all times. Interestingly, coming from Nate, she rather enjoyed it. She’d much rather he treated her as an equal, even one with whom he was angry.

  They reached the house, a cedar-sided bungalow that she remembered from her visits to the island as a girl. Back then, he’d lived in it with his parents, and she’d always been welcome inside for a bite to eat or to watch the telly on a rainy afternoon. His mother, she recalled, had been amazingly tolerant of such things as sandy feet and soggy swimsuits.

  From the outside, the place looked much the same except for a newer and larger deck that wrapped around to the side entrance. Hank beat them up the steps and shucked off his shoes before opening the squeaky-hinged screen door and going in. That left Holly and Nate standing on either side of the welcome mat.

  Nothing about Nate’s demeanor at the moment was very welcoming.

  “This is too much of an imposition,” she began. It definitely was too much of something.

  “It’s fine,” Nate insisted. “No big deal.” He toed off his soggy shoes and pushed them against the side of the house next to Hank’s battered sneakers.

  “I’ll pay—”

  “It’s only one night, Holly … Hollyn … Princess ….” He shoved his damp hair back from his forehead in agitation. “What am I supposed to call you?”

  From his tone, she imagined he already had a pet name or two in mind. “Holly is fine.”

  She wanted to be just Holly again. That was, after all, why she’d made this rash trip in the first place.

  He looked doubtful, but nodded. “I insist you stay, all right? As my guest.”

  His words might have been more reassuring had they not been issued through clenched teeth. But any retort she might have offered was lost when he reached for the back of his damp T-shirt and pulled it over his head.

  Holly swallowed hard, but that didn’t keep her mouth from watering. As a teenage girl, she’d admired Nate’s form. He’d been wiry then, lean and several inches shorter than the six foot three she judged him to be now. He’d shot up, filled out. Quite obviously, he worked out. A sculpted abdomen such as his was no happy accident of genetics.

  “Your turn.”

  His words startled her. She felt her cheeks grow warm, though it wasn’t only embarrassment that caused the building heat.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your shoes. If you wouldn’t mind, take them off out here.”

  Half of his mouth crooked into a wry smile as he draped his shirt over the banister. He was enjoying her discomfort, enjoying that she was as off balance now as he’d been while wading through the surf earlier.

  Holly glanced down at her feet. The shoes he’d tried to spare damage with his chivalrous offer to carry her ashore were not only wet, but also covered in sand and other natural debris from their trek over the beach.

  “Your mother never minded the sand.”

  “She did, but she was too polite to say so. Regardless, since I clean the place now, I make the rules.”

  “Right.” Envisioning him with a mop in one hand and a feather duster in the other helped take some of the sting out of his words.

  She did as Nate asked and padded inside behind him.

  Hank already had made himself at home on the couch in front of the television. His stocking feet were propped up on the coffee table, a long-necked brown bottle was in one hand and the remote control was in the other. A baseball game was on. Holly didn’t know much about the American pastime, but she’d always enjoyed listening to the announcers explaining what was going on. Their voices were so soothing, spiking here and there as warranted by a key play. The sound made her nostalgic. As did the house, even though the furnishings now were more masculine and sparse than the fussy decor that had obviously been Mrs. Matthews’s taste.

  Gone were the knickknacks and kitschy collections that had filled two curios cabinets. Gone was the mauve-and-blue color scheme, the lace curtains and flowered camelback sofa. Now the main living area sported top-of-the-line electronics, a brown leather sectional and some surprisingly high-quality pieces of artwork, all of them seascapes.

  Nate must have noticed the direction of her gaze. “Rupert Lengard,” he said, supplying the name of the artist. “I wish I could say they’re originals, but they’re limited edition prints.”

  “They’re stunning.” She pointed to one. “That looks like that little island we used to take the canoe out to.”

  They’d pretended to be castaways and had even tried to erect a tree house à la the Swiss Family Robinson. But getting building supplies over in the canoe had proved too much of a hassle. They’d made do with a lean-to crafted from sticks and cedar boughs.

  “Horn Island,” Nate said. “Lengard spent a couple summers on Heart and the surrounding islands. All of the prints I bought are local scenes.”

  She admired the subject matter as much as the artist’s obvious skill. “I’ll have to see about getting some of them for home.”

  “His stuff is not exactly on par with Poussin or Renoir.”

  Apparently, Nate thought only work of old-world masters would suit her sensibilities. Holly decided to set him straight. “My tastes run a little more modern than that. Like you, I buy art, whether prints or originals, because I like it, not because of the value an insurance appraiser might put on it.”

  Nate nodded curtly. It sounded like he might have said, “Touché.”

  But he was already turning away and heading over to the couch.

  “Anything else I can get you, Hank?” Nate asked dryly.

  The other man either missed the sarcasm or chose to ignore it. “You got anything to munch on? Like nachos maybe?”

  Holly hid her grin.

  “You want nachos?”

  Hank dragged his gaze from the television. His expression was hopeful. “Yeah.”

  “They sell them down at the Fishing Hole Tavern. Bring back an order for me, too, while you’re at it,” Nate replied before using his shin to knock the other man’s feet off the table. To Holly, he said, “Follow me. I’ll show you to your room.”

  He went back to grab her bags from their spot by the door and started for the stairs. At the top, he turned right and continued to the room at the end of the hall.

  She stood uncertainly at the threshold after he entered. “But th-this is your room.”

  And it was just as she recalled it, though she hadn’t spent much time in it as a girl. His parents wouldn’t have allowed that, especially once she and Nate were teenagers.

  Even though they were both adults now, she felt awkward and oddly aware. She blamed it on the fact that he was shirtless and she was … tired. Really, really tired.

  “Not anymore. I have the master these days. After my folks moved out I did a little renovation work and added an en suite bathroom, so the one in the hall is all yours.” His brows rose in humor. “Well, yours and Hank’s. You’ll have to share.”

  He set down her bags and crossed to open the window a few inches. He repeated the process for the one on the opposite wall. The wind rushed inside, ruffling the edges of the curtains and bringing with it the mingled scents of cedar trees and wood smoke. She recalled that earthy scent from those summers long past. Nostalgia had her smiling. A lot of fireplaces would be in use tonight if the temperature outside continued to drop. Her gaze veered to Nate and
her smile disappeared. Holly wasn’t feeling chilled. Quite the opposite. Even wearing wet clothes, all it took was an eyeful of the taut muscles that defined Nate’s shoulders, and she had to fight the urge to fan herself.

  He turned around to find her studying him. God only knew what her expression revealed. He was one of the few people around whom she had ever been herself, which was ironic, she realized now, since he hadn’t known her actual identity.

  She folded her hands at her waist, cleared her throat and said the first thing she could think of. “It’s windy outside.”

  “The storm.”

  “Yes. The storm.”

  They eyed one another for a moment longer. “You can close the windows in a minute. Just give the place a chance to air out. It’s a little stuffy in here. This room doesn’t get much use.”

  A little stuffy? She could hardly breathe. But that had nothing do with stagnant air. It had everything to do with the way he was looking at her. She saw speculation in his gaze and, she thought, guarded interest. It dawned on Holly then that she must look a fright. Her soggy clothes were molded to her body, her makeup was nonexistent, and her hair … She reached up to run a hand through it only to have her fingers tangle in the snarls.

  She pulled her hand free and managed to say, “It’s fine.”

  He didn’t appear convinced. In fact, he was shaking his head. “You know, the more I think of it, you belong in the master suite. You’d definitely be more comfortable in there.”

  He reached for her bags. She put out a hand to stop him. “Don’t be silly. This is fine,” she said again.

  “It’s not up to the standards you’re used to,” he said quietly.

  “I’m not picky, Nathaniel.” She went with his full name, hoping to get a rise out of him.

  His gaze connected with hers. “You’re a princess.”

  Holly folded her arms over her chest and the ache she felt building there. “You say it like it’s some sort of disease.”

  “I’ll apologize for that. But the fact remains, you’re used to better than … this.” He glanced around as if seeing the room for the first time. Clearly, he found it lacking. His gaze returned to her. “You’re used to better than anything I have to offer, for that matter.”