LITMIR.BIZ

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got the Nutty Road because only a nut would even consider letting ice cream melt,. Even with the cooler it won’t last long in this heat.”

      Aware that something was easing between them, Angie went below and retrieved the two containers of ice cream. She came back topside and he turned from where he had been digging through a side compartment. In his hand he had one of those Swiss Army combination knife sets. He unfolded it to reveal a spoon.

      “We’re going to have to share,” he said. “Only one spoon.”

      The danger of the storm had nothing on this: sharing a spoon with him. The new ease between them became laced with something else, something as sensuous and unpredictable as that storm.

      Jefferson gestured to a bench seat at the back of the boat, sat down and patted the seat beside him. She took the seat, not quite touching him but close enough to be aware of the heat radiating from under his damp shirt. She set down one bucket of ice cream, put the other on her lap and popped the lid off it. She looked into a vat of chocolate the same color as his hair.

      “It’s already started to melt,” she said.

      “That lends a sense of urgency to the whole situation,” he said.

      She glanced at him and realized he was teasing her. The ease and the electricity braided themselves together even more completely.

      He dug the spoon in and then held it, heaping with dripping ice cream, out to her. She moved into the circle of his electricity and closed her lips over the spoon, her eyes locked on his.

      Without breaking the hold, he took the empty spoon and dug it back into the chocolate. Seeing his tongue dart out to free the ice cream from the spoon was way too sexy. But then he was holding the spoon, filled again, out to her. She closed her lips around the spoon, aware that his lips had just touched that same place. Ever so slowly, she tugged the ice cream off.

      And then she watched him take that same spoon and dip it back into the ice cream and put his lips exactly where hers had just been. His eyes met hers. He did something exquisite to that spoon with his tongue.

      When it was her turn, she did something just as exquisite with her tongue. She heard him give a little gasp of surprise.

      And longing.

      Sharing that spoon became an exploration of sensuality almost as powerful as a kiss. She was so aware of him: the wet transparency of his shirt, the shape of his lips, the light in his eyes, the solidness of his wrists, the strong columns of his fingers as they held the spoon to her lips.

      “So, would you say this ice-cream flavor—dark chocolate—is a reflection of you?” he asked.

      She gulped. “In what way?”

      “Sweet, but with surprising depth and a hint of mystery.”

      Was he flirting with her?

      “You need to be writing ice-cream labels,” she said.

      “You write the next one.”

      He reached over her, and took the second bucket of ice cream. He pried the lid off the salted caramel one and dipped the spoon in. He held it out to her and she took it.

      “What do you think?” he said. “What would you put on the label?”

      “Subtle, but sensuous with hints of salt.” Was she flirting back?

      He ducked his head and dipped the spoon back into the ice cream and tasted it slowly, rolling the ice cream on his tongue as if he was at a wine tasting.

      “I like it, but—” he dipped the spoon back into the chocolate and then into the salted caramel “—who knows what could happen if you combined two such different flavors?”

      Was he talking about ice cream? Or was he flirting? Whatever he was doing, she liked it. She never wanted it to end.

      With her eyes still locked on his, she slid the ice cream off the spoon. The whole experience was so exquisite it was almost painful. She had to shut her eyes against it.

      When she opened them, he was sliding a spoonful of the mixed version between the sultry mounds of his lips.

      “The ice cream tastes like ambrosia,” he said gruffly.

      “What does that mean, exactly, ambrosia?”

      “Food of the gods.”

      “That’s what we will call this new flavor then, Ambrosia.”

      And this experience, in her mind, also had a name. Ambrosia. Surely, this was the kind of experience the gods fed on? Not food but the quality of air, and the static from the storm, and the hint of danger between her and him right now.

      They ate ice cream until they could not eat another bite. They put the lids on the now melted containers and put them aside. While they had been eating the ice cream, darkness had been sliding over the lake. They sat there, side by side, rocking gently on the waters of the cove, while just beyond them the lake rolled, white tipped and violent.

      The waves appeared as big and violent as they had during the storm. The wind outside the cove howled a warning.

      She shivered, whether from cold or from eating too much ice cream or from awareness she was not sure. Jefferson went below and came back with a blanket.

      Again, he had just one. He tossed it over both their shoulders and pulled it tight around them. The warmth from him and from the blanket crept into her. They were sailors, marooned, and she loved it. Night fell and the stars winked on, one by one, studding the pure inky blackness of the sky.

      It was crazy, and beautiful.

      Going for groceries by boat was definitely the most romantic thing that Angie had ever done.

      She was so amazingly aware of everything: the wind, and his warmth and solidness of his shoulder underneath the blanket and the flavor of ice cream in her mouth. She was so aware of how he was not watching the restless waters of the lake, but her.

      “What?” she whispered.

      “I’m just trying to figure you out.”

      “Really?”

      “Because it is apparent to me that there’s nothing about you that is a shrinking violet. It is apparent to me you are very courageous. So, I want to know what has you so frightened.”

      “This morning you weren’t interested,” she reminded him.

      “I was interested,” he admitted. “I just didn’t want you to know I was interested.”

      “And what has changed?” Besides everything, she thought to herself.

      “This morning we hadn’t eaten ice cream off the same spoon.”

      She sighed deeply. And surrendered.

       CHAPTER TEN

      JEFFERSON WAS AWARE of the surrender, not just in her but in himself. Had he actually been flirting with his housekeeper?

      No, he told himself sternly, he had not. Being with her had coaxed his more playful side to the surface. Okay, he was more than surprised that he had a playful side, but he blamed the storm for cutting down his defenses, placing them in this predicament where they had to share a spoon.

      And sharing that spoon had led to this. The complete collapse of defenses. They were going to share even deeper confidences.

      “I’m not a housekeeper,” Angie confessed solemnly.

      “Yeah, I kind of figured that part out.”

      “I’m close, though, and qualified. I’m a high school home economics teacher in Calgary.”

      Jefferson contemplated that. He could feel the truth of it—he thought of her making her lists and organizing his

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