Chapter 54

They lay there like that for a long time. Peyton wondered if Dix was relaxed because she was so uptight she thought he might actually be able to hear her body vibrate. Finally, her stomach gave a very unladylike rumble, and she sat up, embarrassed.
"I guess I ought to feed myself. I sort of skipped breakfast." She swung her legs over the side of the chair, stood up, and grabbed her T-shirt and towel. "I'm going to make some lunch for myself. Um, would you like a sandwich?"
"I can get it."
"It's no trouble," she insisted. "I'll be fixing mine anyway, so it's no trouble."
He looked up at her through partially-opened eyes. "Okay, then. If you're sure it's no trouble."
"I'm sure. I think we can behave ourselves long enough to share a meal, don't you?"
Was that a grin twitching his lips? "I'll do my best."
She took another long look at him. "Wouldn't you be more comfortable on one of the pieces of furniture rather than on that towel on the hard ground?"
He smiled. Well, okay, half a smile.
"Actually, this is a lot more comfortable than a lot of places I've had to sleep, so I'm good."
"Oh. Okay." Jeez, Peyton, do you know any other words in the English language? "I'm going to make lunch now."
She hurried into the cottage before she could sound any more stupid. She wished she was the kind of woman who had excellent self-control over themselves and their bodies. Instead, she seemed to be someone whose hormones took absolutely no notice of the fact she'd been screwed over and heartbroken three times. Put her in close proximity to a totally hot guy and they danced all over the place.
They kept dancing while she fixed a thick sandwich and chips for Dix, using the fresh rye bread he'd bought the day before, and a salad with sliced meat and cheese for herself. No carbs, she reminded herself as she set everything on the table. Opening the door, she hollered out to him.
"Soup's on."
He moved to his feet with the jungle-like grace of a sleek panther, picked up his towel, and headed inside. She thought she could watch the play of muscles in his body for hours on end, the flex and tightening. She was glad, however, to see that his hard-on had disappeared. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to concentrate on her lunch, sitting at the table with him and it.
"Be right with you," Dix threw at her as he took the flight upstairs two steps at a time. He was back in literally seconds, wearing ragged jean shorts and a faded T-shirt. When he saw her staring at him, he laughed. "I didn't bring my fashionable wardrobe with me."
"What? Oh, no, no, no. I don't care what you wear. We're not exactly in a fancy resort."
And she didn't. What she kept staring at was his honed body and, shamefully, the scar on his thigh. When he saw the direction she was looking, the smile disappeared from his face.
"Hazards of war," was all he said then he took a healthy bite of his sandwich.
"Sorry." Peyton bent her head and forked up a bite of salad, chewing with her eyes fixed on her plate. When Dix was still silent, she glanced up to see if she'd offended him in any way. She caught him staring at her, frowning. "What? Is something wrong?"
"You could have had some of the bread. I know you didn't buy any when we shopped, but I don't want you to think I'm hogging it all for myself."
She looked down again. "Thank you, but I don't eat bread."
"You don't eat bread?" By his tone of voice, you'd have thought she'd said she was planning to starve herself.
"It's..." How did she explain? "Unhealthy for me."
"Unhealthy. Well. Peyton, look at me."
When she did, she was stunned at the irritation on his face. "What? So I don't eat bread."
"If you're going to tell me it's because you need to lose weight, I'll be forced to give you a lecture." He wasn't smiling.
"Lecture? You and who else? And what about?"
"About the fact," he said slowly, "that if more women looked like you instead of matchsticks, men would enjoy sex with their wives and girlfriends a whole lot more."
Peyton thought her jaw would drop far enough to hit the table. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He shook his head. "I swear, I don't know where women get their ideas sometimes. I'm surprised you don't have men trailing around after you with their tongues dragging on the floor." He took another large bite of his sandwich, an obvious indication the conversation was over.
Still, Peyton felt compelled to push.
"I don't - I can't imagine - "
She shook her head. If she was going to say anything, she'd better at least get her shit together and not sound like the village idiot. She wanted to ask him a lot of questions like why and how, but he was focused entirely on his food.
Okay. She could be silent, too.
Dix finished before she did, cleared away his debris, gave her a brief nod, and headed upstairs. Was he going to hide up there for the rest of the day? So what? It was no skin off her nose if he did. She wanted to be alone anyway. Right?
She briefly toyed with the idea of setting up her laptop, but her brain was sending her negative signals. Her emotions were still in such turmoil she was sure she wouldn't be able to create even the simplest idea or put a coherent thought on paper. She finally decided to get her tablet and sit outside and read. The weather was nice, pleasantly warm, and there was just the hint of a breeze.
She spent the better part of two hours trying to read a book by one of her favorite authors, but her mind would not focus. She thought she might go for another swim after a while. The water was cool but not freezing. Refreshing. The minute she'd submerged herself this morning, she'd felt as if the lake was washing away all her problems. And wouldn't that be nice. She swam out as far as she thought was safe for her with no one around. Then she turned over and floated on her back, doing her best to believe her life had not imploded and left her in a vacuum. It didn't work, but it did at least somewhat soothe her jangled nerves and wash away some of the tension left over from lunch.
She wasn't sure which unsettled her more, his reaction when he'd caught her staring at his scar or his comment about her weight. Was he trying to hide the answers about the one and his real opinion about the other? And lordy, he certainly had mood shifts. One minute he was almost friendly, the next remote and cold. Why did she care what he said or thought, anyway? And why was she driving herself crazy, as usual?
Drive yourself crazy, Peyton. Go ahead. Then you won't have to worry about ever writing again.