Navy Wife. Debbie Macomber
all that was before him with an arrogant tilt of his square jaw. Lindy was surprised at the sudden strong charge of pleasure the thought gave her. Her mind conjured him standing tall and immovably proud, shoulders squared, gaze focused straight ahead. With the thought some of the pique she’d been feeling toward him vanished.
But what intrigued her most about Rush Callaghan, she decided, were his eyes. Although he hadn’t said more than a handful of words to her this morning, his dark blue gaze was highly expressive and more than able to telegraph his sour mood. She’d gained a good deal of pleasure in provoking him and then watching his brows crowd his eyes, narrowing them into slits of cool, assessing color. Later when he’d confronted her in the bathroom, those same clear blue eyes had revealed much more.
As her mind continued to play with the thoughts, Lindy scooted down into the hot water, raised a washcloth and idly drizzled the water over her smooth, flat stomach.
In the hallway outside the bathroom door, Rush paced like a stalking, caged tiger. He’d checked his watch every damn minute for the past five. Just how long did it take a woman to bathe, for God’s sake? Too damn long, for his tastes.
Finally accepting the fact that pacing wasn’t going to hurry her any, he retreated into his bedroom and sat on the edge of the mattress. In an effort to be honest with himself Rush admitted that it wasn’t the fact that Lindy was hogging the one facility in the apartment that irritated him so much. It was the tantalizing figure she’d presented to him when he’d inadvertently walked in on her.
Her firm young body had all but taken his breath away, and when he checked his hands he found he was still trembling with the effects of the brief encounter. He hadn’t a clue as to why she would wear that silly piece of lace. The silky see-through fabric didn’t hide a damn thing.
Like an innocent, he’d moved into the bathroom only to be confronted by the sweet curve of her buttocks and the milky white skin of her long, shapely legs. Rush could swear the woman’s legs went all the way up to her neck.
If that sight hadn’t been enough to hammer the breath from his lungs, having her turn around and confront him had. Her full pink breasts had darkened at the tips as she struggled to hold the front of her pajamas together. Not that her efforts had done much good. Her nipples had hardened and pointed straight at him as though begging to be kissed. Even now the image had the power to tighten his groin and make his breath come in harsh, uneven gulps.
A week. Oh Lord. He wondered if he could last that long. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. He hoped the Mitchell would be ready to sail by then because he didn’t know how much longer he could contain himself around Lindy. He knew he had to avoid a relationship with her at all costs. In addition to being his best friend’s sister, Lindy was hurting, Rush realized. Something had happened—he didn’t know what, didn’t need to know—but he’d recognized the heavy shadow of pain and grief that hung over her head like a dark thundercloud. Something had knocked her world off kilter. And Rush wasn’t in a position to right it. He wasn’t anyone’s savior. In the meantime, the best thing that could happen was for him to keep his eyes and ears to himself and pray the Mitchell left ahead of schedule.
Lindy found Rush was in the kitchen when she returned from job hunting late that afternoon. Her day had gone amazingly well and she felt greatly encouraged. After filling out dozens of forms and passing a series of tests, she was scheduled for an interview at the Boeing Renton plant for the following Monday. The salary was more than she’d hoped for and the benefits substantial. She held high hopes for the interview. Perhaps the worm had finally turned and her luck was going to change. She certainly hoped so. But in the meantime she felt obligated to keep job hunting in case something else turned up between now and then. Besides she didn’t relish lingering around the apartment, bumping into Rush everytime she turned around.
“Hi,” Lindy greeted Rush cheerfully, draping the strap of her purse over the back of the kitchen chair. She was in the mood to be generous with her reluctant roommate. After her fruitful day of job hunting, she was actually beginning to feel a little like her old self.
It was obvious, however, from the vicious way Rush was scrubbing away at the dishes that his earlier dark mood hadn’t improved.
He grumbled a reply, but didn’t turn around. “Listen, I’ve got a schedule posted outside the bathroom so there won’t be a recurrence of what happened this morning.”
A schedule for the bathroom? He had to be joking! “Okay,” she answered, having difficulty disguising her amusement. She opened the refrigerator and took out a cold can of soda, closed the door and momentarily leaned against it. It struck her then that she was hungry. She’d eaten lunch hours before, but with her limited funds she couldn’t afford a fancy restaurant meal and had opted, instead, for a fast-food chicken salad. She had started to search through the cupboards when Rush turned around and nearly collided with her
“Excuse me,” he said stiffly.
“No problem.” She pressed herself against the counter as he moved past.
From the way he skirted around her, one would think she was a carrier of bubonic plague.
Without another word, Rush wiped his hands dry, rehung the dish towel and moved into the living room to turn on the television.
Since he didn’t appear to be the least bit communicative, she wasn’t about to ask him if he’d eaten or if he was hungry. Far be it from her to appear anxious to share a meal with Rush when he obviously wanted to ignore her. They weren’t on a Sunday-school picnic here, they were merely polite strangers whose presence had been forced on each other.
Sorting through the cupboards, Lindy brought out spaghetti noodles and a bottle of spicy Italian sauce. After weeks of a skimpy appetite, it felt good to think about cooking something substantial.
The sausage was frying up nicely and the faint scent of fennel and sage wafted through the kitchen. Lindy brought out an onion and had begun dicing it to add to the meat when the knife slipped and neatly sliced into her index finger.
The sight of blood squirting over the cutting board shocked more than hurt her. She cried out in a moment of panic and rushed to the sink, holding her hand.
“Lindy, are you all right?”
She ignored the question. The cut hurt now. Badly. Closing her eyes, she held her finger under the running water.
“What happened?” Rush demanded, joining her at the sink.
“Nothing.” Already the stainless steel was splashed with blotches of blood.
“You cut yourself!”
He sounded angry, as though she’d purposely injured herself in a futile attempt to gain his sympathy. “Are you always this brilliant or is this show of intelligence for my benefit?” she asked through clenched teeth. He looked stunned for a minute as though he didn’t understand a word of what she was saying. “Any idiot could see I’ve cut myself,” she cried, her voice raised and laced with a healthy dose of fright.
“Let me take a look at it.”
She shook her head forcefully, wishing he’d go away so she could assess the damage herself. The terrible stinging had been replaced by an aching throb. She couldn’t keep herself from bouncing, as if the action would lessen the pain.
“Give me your hand,” he demanded, reaching for it.
“Stop shouting at me,” she yelled, and jerked away from him. “As far as I’m concerned this is all your fault.”
“My fault?” His expressive blue eyes widened.
“Any fool knows better than to keep sharp knives around.” Lindy knew she wasn’t making sense, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.
“For God’s sake, stop hopping around and let me get a good look at it.”
Using his upper body, he trapped her against the counter. She really didn’t have any choice but to let him examine the cut. Biting unmercifully into her bottom lip, she unfolded her fist,