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Bo was back on the roof, continuing to fix the damage caused by the storm, so she had to yell above his hammer to attract his attention.
Once he heard her voice, he stood. He was wearing a pair of shorts with tennis shoes and no shirt, just a tool belt slung low on his hips.
She tried not to notice how well-defined his arms, shoulders, and chest were. He didn’t have a six-pack, but it was close, so his stomach was quite remarkable, too. Although Remy wasn’t nearly as muscular, he was certainly attractive. She knew Bo’s torso was the last thing she should be admiring.
“Hey, sorry to bother you again,” she said when she realized she had his attention. “I was hoping... Is there any chance we could talk for a sec?”
He glanced in the direction of the cottage, as if he was wary that Bastian might’ve followed her. But then he crossed over to the ladder and came down. “Is everything okay?” he asked. “Did you get that stuff...put away?”
He was obviously referring to the duffel bag. “I did. It’s back behind the wall.”
“Good.”
“This is about something else.”
“Bastian?”
“Jack. He’s coming in tonight. I have a room for him over at Hotel Mariners, but I’m afraid those prices will make him want to leave almost as soon as he gets here, and I’d hate for him to spend the money on the flight to come out here only to feel he has to go right back to the farm.”
“You need me to talk to Honey sooner rather than later.”
“If you would. I hate to ask you, but when Remy found out Jack was coming, he wasn’t happy about it. I can’t have Jack stay at the cottage.”
“I can’t believe any of the Windsors would mind.”
“Really?”she said skeptically.
“Surely, your fiancé can help out your brother,” he insisted.
It was saying something that she felt more comfortable asking Bo forhisunderstanding and help than Remy’s. But she didn’t want to examine that too closely. “If Remy hadn’t set his expectations for a great summer so high—and didn’t feel it was a reward for his hard work—he probably wouldn’t mind letting Jack stay. But...” Hearing how selfish that sounded in the face of what Jack was going through, she stopped and tried again. “I don’t want to feel as though I’m taking advantage of his family’s generosity, and if Honey needs someone to house-sit anyway—”
Bo lifted a hand. “I know Remy and—well, you’ve said enough. So just give me a minute. I’ll grab a shirt.”
“Now?” she asked. Wasn’t he going to finish what he was doing?
“I’ll take you over to Honey’s. I think it will help to have you meet her.”
“It doesn’t have to happenthatfast. I feel terrible interrupting you. I just...wanted to let you know, as soon as possible, that he’s coming tonight.”
“I don’t mind,” he said. “You’ll rest easier once we have this handled.”
“I will, but I’m not trying to turn my problems into your problems. I seem to be coming to you for everything.”
He looked down before meeting her gaze again. “That’s what friends are for.”
She felt a smile stretch across her face. She liked this man entirely too much.
14
Bastian stopped in the hallway as he passed Remy’s room, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. He could smell Ismay in the air—her perfume or shampoo or whatever. God, she smelled good. How she couldn’t see through Remy, he had no idea. But then, Remy could certainly put on a front. He was a chameleon, could blend in wherever or whenever he wanted to.
Eager to get something to eat, he started toward the stairs again, but the temptation of that scent drew him into Remy’s room first. For a moment, he just stood in the doorway, surprised to see that she’d made her bed. He didn’t know many people who bothered with that these days; he certainly didn’t. But her tidiness somehow fit her and made her even more appealing to him. He could see why Remy had decided to marry her. What man wouldn’t be happy with such a fresh-faced, sensitive, kind, and intelligent woman?
And that was before he got to her beauty...
Glancing down the stairs to make sure the coast was still clear and she wasn’t about to return for something she’d forgotten, he walked farther inside and lifted the suitcase she’d placed in the closet. Empty, of course. Any woman who was going to make her bed each day wouldn’t live out of a suitcase.
He fingered the blouses she’d hung up—the light silk of an off-white button-up, the coarse linen of a black oversized shirt, and the soft red cotton of a tank top—then counted the chinos, jeans, and shorts on the lower rack before checking the labels. She didn’t spend a lot on clothes. Remy probably didn’t like that. He’d expect his woman to match him. But that was the thing—Ismay made even cheap clothes look expensive. She had the tall, lean body of a model.
