And how could I resist? There were plush, padded lounge chairs and a cabinet with towels and blankets. He set the glasses on a low table between two lounges and grabbed fleece blankets. He had the complete setup, including a propane heater—the big industrial kind they put out on restaurant patios. It wasn’t quite chilly enough that evening to turn it on.

After the yard lights were dimmed, we sat on our lounges. I gazed out over the bay watching the golden lights dance on the water’s surface. It was just after sunset and the sky was an otherworldly shade of lavender reflected in the waters of the bay as dusk dropped quickly, like it always did close to the coast. Boats returned from the ocean, their running lights flickering across the water. The distant sounds of a party drifted from one of the neighboring houses on Bay Island.

I glanced over at Adam, who had his phone out, reading e-mail and occasionally replying. I sipped at my wine and burrowed under the blanket watching him. It wasn’t freezing but, like every spring night in Southern California, though the days were temperate, the nights got chilly once the sun went down, especially on the beach.

Without looking up from his work he asked, “Warm enough? You want the heater on?”

“No,” I said, getting up from the lounge. “I have a better idea to keep warm.”

I picked up my blanket walked over to his lounge, and plunked down beside him. With surprise he gazed up at me, then scooted, putting his legs down, one on either side of the lounge and indicated that I should sit between them, which I did, laying back against him.

At first I got that same feeling of weird stiffness—like he didn’t know what to do. Clearly Adam wasn’t a natural cuddler. But I was. I’d grown up in an affectionate family. And I had no idea why I needed to connect to him. Hell, I cuddled with Heath sometimes, when he tolerated it. It was just who I was. But the sense I got from Adam was more hesitant than reluctant, as if he didn’t know how to handle it rather than being repulsed by it.

Adam finished his latest text and set his phone aside. I leaned my head back against his shoulder and slowly he hitched his arms around me, pulling me fast against him. We sat in silence for many long moments as the night darkened around us. My blood pounded in my throat, an exquisite tension building at the center of my being. It felt so good, just sitting here.

“How’s work? All disasters averted?”

“The old disasters are swept aside by the new ones, as usual,” he said.

“One of your guests said something tonight that I found remarkable.”

“What was that?”

“I hope he was joking, but he said something about hardly believing you had a chance to enjoy your gorgeous home when you work a hundred-hour week as your norm.”

“A hundred hours? That’s a bit of an exaggeration.” Amusement tinged his voice.

“But not much, I’d wager, because he also said you regularly sleep at your office.”

He paused. “I’ve never pushed any employee harder than I push myself. If they’re doing seventy-hour weeks, then I’ll do ninety.”

I angled my head to look up at him. “But why have all this, then, if you can’t enjoy it?”

“Who says I don’t? Besides, Miss Doctor, I don’t think you’ll soon be a stranger to ninety-hour workweeks yourself.”

I shrugged. “I guess I’ve been preparing myself for it. Probably why I’ve never bothered with a personal life.”

“You and I have that in common, then.”

I sighed and settled back against him. The phone chirped. Adam picked it up. He typed one-handed while holding me with the other.

“Don’t you ever turn that thing off?”

I could almost hear him smile. “Never.”

“If I asked you to turn it off now, would you?”

He paused and set down the phone. “If you gave me enough of an incentive.”

I smiled. “I’m sure I could think of something.”

He brought a hand to my hair. “I like your hair up. But it’s much prettier down.”

“If you take the pins out now, it will still stay in its same shape, I’m afraid. My landlady did it and she loves a good bottle of hairspray.”

“Hairspray or rubber cement?” he laughed.

“Yeah, it’s going to hurt like a bitch to brush it out.”

He paused for a moment. “I hope you didn’t put it up because you thought you had to.”

I shrugged, prepared to let him think that was the reason I’d put my hair up—and not because I’d wanted to keep his hands well away from my hair. I did not want a repeat of the balcony freak-out in Amsterdam. I took a deep breath. “I know it’s silly, but I really did want to impress your friends. I don’t think I did.”