The Welcoming

Roman and to control the now-prancing dog.
    Her light jacket was unzipped, exposing a snug T-shirt darkened with sweat between her breasts. Her hair, pulled straight, almost severely, back from her face, accented her bone structure. Her skin seemed almost translucent as it glowed from her run. He had an urge to touch it, to see how it felt under his fingertips. And to see if that instant reaction would rush out again.
    “Ludwig, be still a minute.” She laughed and tugged at his collar.
    In response, the dog jumped up and lapped at her face. “He listens well,” Roman commented.
    “You can see why I need the fence. He thinks he can play with everyone.” Her hand brushed Roman’s leg as she struggled with the leash.
    When he took her wrist, both of them froze.
    He could feel her pulse skip, then sprint. It was a quick, vulnerable response that was unbearably arousing. Though it cost him, he kept his fingers loose. He had only meant to stop her before she inadvertently found his weapon. Now they crouched, knee to knee, in the center of the deserted road, with the dog trying to nuzzle between them.
    “You’re trembling.” He said it warily, but he didn’t release her. “Do you always react that way when a man touches you?”
    “No.” Because it baffled her, she kept still and waited to see what would happen next. “I’m pretty sure this is a first.”
    It pleased him to hear it, and it annoyed him, because he wanted to believe it. “Then we’ll have to be careful, won’t we?” He released her, then stood up.
    More slowly, because she wasn’t sure of her balance, she rose. He was angry. Though he was holding on to his temper, it was clear enough to see in his eyes. “I’m not very good at being careful.”
    His gaze whipped back to hers. There was a fire in it, a fire that raged and then was quickly and completely suppressed. “I am.”
    “Yes.” The brief, heated glance had alarmed her, but Charity had always held her own. She tilted her head to study him. “I think you’d have to be, with that streak of violence you have to contend with. Who are you mad at, Roman?”
    He didn’t like to be read that easily. Watching her, he lowered a hand to pet Ludwig, who was resting his front paws on his knees. “Nobody at the moment,” he told her, but it was a lie. He was furious—with himself.
    She only shook her head. “You’re entitled to your secrets, but I can’t help wondering why you’d be angry with yourself for responding to me.”
    He took a lazy scan of the road, up, then down. They might have been alone on the island. “Would you like me to do something about it, here and now?”
    He could, she realized. And he would. If he was pushed too far he would do exactly what he wanted, when he wanted. The frisson of excitement that passed through her annoyed her. Macho types were for other women, different women—not Charity Ford. Deliberately she looked at her watch.
    “Thanks. I’m sure that’s a delightful offer, but I have to get back and set up for breakfast.” Struggling with the dog, she started off at what she hoped was a dignified walk. “I’ll let you know if I can squeeze in, say, fifteen minutes later.”
    “Charity?”
    She turned her head and aimed a cool look. “Yes?”
    “Your shoe’s untied.”
    She just lifted her chin and continued on.
    Roman grinned at her back and tucked his thumbs in his pockets. Yes, indeed, the woman had one hell of a walk. It was too damn bad all around that he was beginning to like her.
    ***
    He was interested in the tour group. It was a simple matter for Roman to loiter on the first floor, lingering over a second cup of coffee in the kitchen, passing idle conversation with the thick-armed Mae and the skinny Dolores. He hadn’t expected to be put to work, but when he’d found himself with an armful of table linens he had made the best of it.
    Charity, wearing a bright red sweatshirt with the inn’s logo across the chest, meticulously arranged a folded napkin in a water glass. Roman waited a moment, watching her busy fingers smoothing and tapering the cloth.
    “Where do you want these?”
    She glanced over, wondering if she should still be annoyed with him, then decided against it. At the moment she needed every extra hand she could get. “On the tables would be a good start. White on the bottom, apricot on top, slanted. Okay?” She indicated a table that was already set.
    “Sure.” He began to spread the cloths. “How many are