Chapter 48

They actually spoke very little on the trip for groceries. Peyton got the distinct feeling Dix Amendola wasn't up for conversation, and that was fine with her. She had a lot of her own thinking to do.
How on earth had she ended up sharing her vacation spot with a total stranger? A hunk, at that, if she were ever in the market again. He was well over six feet, his muscular body well outlined in the jeans and T-shirt he wore. The hair that fell just to the neck of his T-shirt was a dirty blond, but the eyelashes fringing stormy grey eyes were much darker. His square jaw and high-cheekboned face wore about two days' worth of tempting scruff.
If she hadn't been so irritated with him and the entire situation, she might even admit she considered him yummy. Sexy. Something certainly was sending hot signals to her pussy and her breasts and every pulse point in her body. But there was that whole latent hostility thing he exhibited. Plus, she had sworn off men of any kind, at least until her poor battered heart healed and she learned how to choose better. She could just hear Grace. "You still have burns from the last frying pan, and already you're jumping into the fire?"
But her damn girl parts, which constantly got her into trouble, had started doing a happy dance the moment she laid eyes on him. And then, he smelled as good as he looked. It wasn't the manufactured fragrance her three losers like Chase wore but an earthy combination of male and honest sweat. She closed her eyes and deliberately called up that last depressing scene with Chase, reminding herself men no longer played a part in her life. At least until she got her act together. She was here to write.
Write! Not for sex.
She needed to remember that.
They did their individual shopping, splitting the cost on staples like milk and eggs. She was careful with the things she chose, eliminating as many carbs as possible. She might never get rid of her so-called chubby look, but she wasn't going to pack on the pounds she'd managed to lose.
As they moved through the store, Peyton noticed Dix limped a little, favoring his right leg to a certain degree. She wondered if he'd been in an accident then reminded herself it was none of her business. Back at the cottage, she finished putting her things away while she listened to Dix climb the stairs with his gear. She'd expected to hear heavy clomping overhead as he moved around but, for a big man, he was surprisingly light on his feet.
They each fixed their own meals, moving silently around one other in the roomy kitchen except for an occasional "Excuse me" or "Pardon me." Dix took his food outside and sat down on the little dock to eat. Peyton ate at the kitchen table, enjoying the view through the big windows. Dix waited until she cleaned up her stuff before coming inside to do the same with his. Conversation was practically nonexistent. Well, hadn't she said she wanted silence? Apparently, he took her at her word because he managed to avoid any conversation.
She thought about sitting outside for a while as the sun set, but the lawn chairs were still in the storage shed. Dix was already back upstairs, and she'd bite her tongue before asking him to take them out for her. Tomorrow, she'd call the realtor and tell her she could help make up for this situation by setting up all the lawn furniture and anything else that was in the shed. She climbed into bed with her tablet and tried to read. All the events of the day played through her mind like an erratic video.
She tried to concentrate on the pages of the book she was reading but kept seeing that image of Dix Amendola standing by his truck, muscular arms crossed, lines grooving the ultra-masculine face, and her ridiculous hormones started jumping around like grasshoppers. She couldn't stop wondering what he looked like without any clothes on.
Finally, she gave up the effort to read, opened the windows to catch the night breeze and the fragrant air carried on it, climbed under the covers, and closed her eyes. She was doing her best to fall asleep when she heard the sound of Dix descending the stairs. In another moment, the door to the yard opened and closed, but so softly, if she hadn't been listening, she wouldn't have heard it. Where on earth was her unexpected housemate going? He'd been very clear about being exhausted. That was the reason he gave for suggesting this crazy situation.
Lying there with her eyes closed, hoping she could finally fall asleep, she heard a splash. Not a really loud one, like someone pitching a rock in the water. More like someone making a clean dive. Was Dix out swimming in the dark? She glanced out of the window and saw there was at least a full moon lighting the lake. Still, he'd never been swimming here before. He had no idea the depth of the water or -
Or what, you soft-headed idiot? He looks like he can take care of himself.
Yeah? Her other self answered. What if he hits his head or something?
Grumbling and calling herself twenty-five kinds of an idiot, she threw back the covers, slid her feet into the sandals beside her bed, and headed outside. She made her way gingerly down to the lake, taking care not to stub her toes or stumble on rocks or tree roots. Standing on the end of the dock, she stared out, searching the smooth surface of the water.
At first, she couldn't see him, and she worried that, indeed, he'd dived too shallow and injured himself. But, then, a splash of moonlight hit him, and she saw him knifing through the water, barely making a ripple. She'd never seen anyone swim so smoothly and silently before, almost as if he were a machine. He swam out, out, out toward the middle, until she couldn't see him anymore. Would he be okay? Apparently, he knew how to swim, but this was still unfamiliar territory.
She stood there and watched for a long time, convincing herself it was just about keeping an eye on him, even when he had swum out so far she couldn't make him out. Still, she didn't move, watching for him to reappear. He was gone so long, she wondered if he'd drowned. Should she go back in the house and get her cell phone, be ready to call 911? Was he even her responsibility?
You can't just let someone drown, idiot, even if you don't like him.
This was ridiculous. Dix Amendola was a grown man. He didn't give the impression of being stupid. He would not be out there if he didn't know what he was doing. But, somehow, her overdeveloped sense of responsibility wouldn't let her turn and head back for the cottage.
Sighing, she sat down at the end of the short dock, dangling her feet over the edge. She'd give him a few more minutes and pray he surfaced still breathing. She was just about to head for the house when his head broke the water less than five feet from her, so quietly she didn't even hear a ripple. Even when he shook his hair out of his face, the drops of water fell silently as if he'd cautioned them not to make noise.
"What are you doing just sitting here in the dark?" His deep voice resonated in the stillness of the night. "Doing some deep thinking?"
God, that voice. It reached into the deepest part of her and heated her blood. Hello, hormones.