Night Whispers - Leslie Kelly [5]
When the dirty water hit her, Kelsey shrieked, then leaped up with laughter on her lips. “You rat,” she said as she shook off the moisture, spraying him with several drops.
Mitch watched her glance over her shoulder and saw the smile fade from her face as she recognized him. When she turned around, he tried not to stare. He really tried. And failed miserably.
Kelsey, the ten-year-old monster, was long gone. Kelsey, the scrawny freckle-faced teenager, had disappeared, too. Here was Kelsey the beauty. The sharp angles of her face had softened with maturity and the freckles had faded into the creamy skin. Her sun-streaked honey-colored hair brushed the curves of her breasts, which were barely covered by the red bikini top. Her eyes were the same brilliant green as her father’s, and her mouth, which he’d longed to slug at least two dozen times in his youth, was generous and eminently kissable.
Damn.
“Hello, Mitch,” Kelsey finally managed to whisper.
What was he doing here? He was a day early, and Kelsey was not at all prepared to greet her new landlord in her bathing suit. Mitch had looked at her like a bratty little kid for so many years, she’d planned to be smartly dressed, cultured, urbane and adult when they finally met again. How typical of him to come back early and spoil everything.
“We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.” Her voice cracked and she cursed herself for being a coward.
“I can see that,” Mitch said. “Been doing a little gardening, hmm?”
He didn’t sound pleased. Then again she hadn’t really expected him to be. But Kelsey ignored the warning tone in his voice and gestured around the yard. “It just needed a little sprucing up. Isn’t it beautiful? Think of the garden parties you could throw here now.”
Mitch didn’t say anything. He just stared at her, leaving her feeling terribly exposed. She grabbed her T-shirt and yanked it on over her head, plucking at the ends to try to cover her hips. He still stared, and she realized how foolish she must look trying to cover up what he’d obviously already seen.
“How was China?” she asked inanely.
“Crowded.”
He didn’t say another word, just continued to stare piercingly at her, as if he almost didn’t recognize her. Well, two could play at that game, she figured. She lifted her chin and stared right back.
She wished she hadn’t. Mitch had always been too good-looking for her own good. His thick dark hair, as brown as mahogany, hung a little long, nearly brushing his collar. The breeze blew a lock of it onto his forehead, and Kelsey had a moment’s impulse to brush it off. His eyes, which probably should have been dark brown to match his hair, were instead a deep midnight blue. The contrast was incredibly dramatic. His face was lean, with a slight five-o’clock shadow highlighting the sculpted jaw. She wondered how rough it would feel on her skin, then shook off the thought and glanced over the rest of him.
Mitch’s six-foot form was lean and solid as ever and, even clad in a white dress shirt and tailored slacks, he looked athletic and muscular. Not bulky, she noted, but toned, with a runner’s legs and strong rower’s arms. He had played a lot of sports as a teen, she remembered, and he and her older brother Nathan had been the two best athletes in their high school. She recalled being in sixth grade, watching their basketball games, proud when her friends would giggle and whisper about Nate, but somehow annoyed when they did the same thing about Mitch. If Emmy Frasier could see Mitch now, she’d positively faint at his feet. He was one fine male specimen.
“Finished?” He gave her a slight, knowing smile.
“Are you?” she asked, knowing he’d done his fair share of staring. He narrowed his eyes. Kelsey decided to call round one even. But she knew from experience the war was a long way from over. After all, they’d been battling since they were kids.
Years before, Kelsey’s mother had offered to take Mitch in while his archaeologist parents traveled.