“Stuff,” he confirmed.
She followed him into Jack's cottage, which was absent of people but filled with rag rugs, plaid sofas, and enough nautical details (ropes, buoys, signs that said things likeLife Is Better at the Beach!)to choke a gift shop.
“What stuff—” she began.
“There's no stuff.” He didn't know what to do with his hands, so he pressed them into the pockets of his suit pants. “Please, please tell me that you're not interested in Max. If you are, I'll have to kill him. And I'd have a hard time explaining that to his mother.”
Slowly, her lips curved. “I am not into Max.”
“Thank God.”
“But I'd love to hear why you'd have to kill him if I was.” She'd put him on the spot.
“I'd have to kill him,” he said bluntly, “because I desperately want you to be with me.”
Her brows lifted.
“I'm crazy about you,” he went on. “I can't remember ever wanting anything in my life as much as I want for you to be my girlfriend.”
“Your job . . .”
“My job is secondary to you. I'm going to let that sort itself out. If I'm with you, then anything that happens with that is fine.”
Moisture collected in her eyes, but she was still smiling.
“You told me,” he said, “back at my house, that you wanted to tap the brakes. Do you still feel that way?”
“I said that mostly because I wanted to give you time to think so you could be certain of our next step. And partly because I needed a little more time myself.”
“I don't need any more time.”
“Me neither. I just . . .”
He waited. Worry fought with hope.
“I'm scared of a relationship between us ending in disaster and the”—she blew out a shivering breath—“desolation that would bring me. But what you've said just now has gone a long way toward giving me a reason to hope that it might not end in disaster. That it's worth the risk.”
“If you'll give me a chance, I'll do everything in my power to make sure this ends well for both of us. For you, even more than for me, because I'll put you first.”
She dashed her fingertips under her eyes. Beamed at him.
“Will you give me a chance?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You will?”
“Yes.”
He moved toward her, then halted as his grandmother and aunt walked past the window, talking.
Jude took hold of her hand and drew her into the galley kitchen, out of sight of the windows. They looked directly at each other. His blood rushed hot and then they were kissing, and his hands were delving into her hair. She drew him closer. He could feel her pulse, smell her perfume and the sea spray in her hair.
“You’re all I think about,” he whispered.
She pulled back enough to meet his eyes.
They were both breathing hard, his profile tilted down, her arms locked around him.
