Debbie Macomber: Debbie Macomber Navy Series Box Set

“That’s not what I smell.”

Lindy saw him wrinkle up his nose a couple of times, sniffing. “What are you?” she asked, forcing a light laugh. “A bloodhound?”

Obstinately Rush refused to respond to her attempt at good humor. If anything, his face grew more marred by dark shadows and anger kindled in his eyes. “It smells like pine needles in here.”

“Oh.” Why, oh why, couldn’t he play her game? He had to know how difficult all this was for her. “I scrubbed down the cupboards. I think I was supposed to dilute the cleaner more than I did.”

Her back was braced against the counter, her fingers gripping the edge. She could feel a pulse come alive in her temple. She’d had all day to make up her mind what she was going to say to Rush, how she was going to act, but her conclusions had been vague and fearful. That was when she’d decided she wouldn’t utter a word about what had happened, praying he wouldn’t, either. She should have realized Rush wouldn’t let her forget it.

“You’ve been busy.”

She nodded eagerly. “Yeah, I decided to spruce up the place a bit.”

Her efforts didn’t appear to please him. Damn, but she wished he’d say or do something to help her. He had to know what she was going through.

“You said something about pork chops being your favorite dinner,” she offered next, almost desperate. All the while, her eyes pleaded with him. She’d just found her footing with this man, and now she was floundering again, her feet slipping out from under her every which way she turned.

“That was thoughtful.” Still he frowned, his brow crowding his eyes, darkening them all the more.

Lindy rushed to the stove and used a cooking fork to turn the sizzling meat. She dared not look at him, and when she spoke the words strangled her. “I wanted to thank you, I guess.”

“For what?”

Obviously Rush wasn’t going to exert the least bit of energy to help her. The stoic look of the wooden Indian was properly in place once more and she wanted to hate him for his ability to disguise his emotions so effortlessly.

“Lindy.”

She ignored him, flipping the frying meat when it was totally unnecessary.

“Lindy, turn around and look at me.”

She shook her head.

“Those pork chops are going to turn into rubber if you cook them much longer.”

Forcefully she turned off the burner and slapped the cooking fork on the stove top. “I could hate you for this,” she muttered between clenched teeth.

“Well don’t, because it isn’t any easier for me.”

Her chest was heaving with indignation when she slowly turned so that they faced each other once more. Nothing about him said he was the least bit uncomfortable. They could have been discussing the weather for all the reaction Rush revealed.

“Well?” she demanded, not having a single clue as to what he was thinking. He wore the hard mask of disciplined self-control, and she longed to slap it from his face.

“I’m embarrassed, too,” he admitted finally.

“You? Whatever for? I was the one who made a complete idiot of myself. I was the one who was wailing like a banshee.” She whipped the hair from her face. “What could you possibly have to be embarrassed about?”

He looked as if he were going to answer her, but Lindy wasn’t about to let him. An entire day of worry and frustration was banked against her fragile control.

“Why couldn’t you have let it drop?” she continued. “Trust me, I was willing to forget the entire incident. But, oh no, Mister Know-It-All has to rub my nose in it.”

The muscle in his clenched jaw leaped so hard his temple quivered, and a strange light flared in his eyes. “I didn’t want any pretense between us.”

Defiance and pride filled Lindy’s breast and her long nails threatened to snap as she continued to grip the countertop behind her. “I don’t, either,” she whispered after a moment, willing now to release her resentment and accept the wisdom of his words.

“I’d like us to be friends.”

She nodded, dropping her gaze to the freshly waxed kitchen floor. “Lord knows, I could use one.”

He smiled at that, and when she glanced up she noted that his eyes had softened perceptibly.

“How did you know apple pie is my favorite?”

Relaxing, Lindy returned his smile. “A fine naval officer like you should know the answer to that. Apple pie has to rank right up there with hot dogs and the American flag.”

They both laughed aloud then, but not because she’d been especially clever. The matter had been settled between them and they were on an even keel once more. They could be friends.

* * *

“Well, how do I look?” Lindy asked Rush Monday morning. She stood beside the kitchen table, where he sat reading the paper and drinking coffee. Her interview wasn’t scheduled until noon, but she’d been dressed and ready since eight, pacing the living room. Lord, he swore she’d straightened the same stack of magazines ten times.

“You’re going to do great.”

“You didn’t even look at me,” she accused, her hands clenched together in front of her. She was a picture of efficiency in her dark blue business suit, white blouse and navy pumps. If it were up to him, he would hire her on the spot.

“You look wonderful,” he said, meaning it. Too damn good for his own peace of mind, if the truth be known.

She checked her wristwatch and nibbled nervously on the corner of her bottom lip. “I think I’ll leave now.”

“Good idea.” To be truthful, he’d be glad to have her out of the apartment. But not because she was making a nuisance of herself. Oh sure, her pacing was beginning to get on his nerves, but far more profound than that—Lindy was beginning to get to him. Bad.

She reached for her purse. “I’ll see you later.”

“Break a leg, kid.”

“Thanks.”

Her quick smile ate like a sweet-tasting acid all the way through him. He’d been a fool to think their nonrelationship would fall neatly back into place after Friday night. He’d been a first-class idiot to believe they could just be friends. Oh, they were that all right, but God knew he hungered for more. Much more.

Rush’s breath escaped on a long, disgusted sigh as he pushed his coffee cup aside. Every time he looked at Lindy his body started to throb. It wasn’t even funny. In fact it was downright embarrassing.

He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms over his chest, trying to reason matters out. Lindy was years younger than he. Ten, at least. And she’d been hurt, the pain much too fresh for her to trust her feelings. To further complicate the situation, she was Steve Kyle’s little sister. Rush might be able to overlook the first stickler, but not the second or the third. Lindy was too vulnerable now, too susceptible. And Steve Kyle was much too good a friend to lose because Rush couldn’t maintain his self-control.

Lord, he wished she’d get that damn job and move out of the apartment. And out of his life. Once she’d cleared out, maybe things would go back to normal and he could concentrate on matters that were important to him.

That wasn’t true, Rush admitted even as he thought it. He liked having Lindy around, liked her being there when he came in after a frustrating day aboard the Mitchell . Liked talking to her in the evenings. That was the problem in a nutshell. He liked every damn thing there was about Lindy Kyle.

Rush was mature enough, disciplined enough, to ignore the physical attraction, although God knows it was difficult. A thousand times he’d cursed the memory of that morning when he had found her in the bathroom, and seen her all soft and feminine. His mental picture of the way her breasts had peeped out at him, firm and round and proud, had the power, even now, to eat a hole straight through his mind. For his own sense of well-being he couldn’t allow his thoughts to dwell on how good she’d felt in his arms, or how she’d fallen asleep with her head resting securely over his heart. Nor did he choose to think about how he’d sat and stroked her hair, drinking in her softness, marveling in her gentleness.