Mr. Predictable: Mr. Predictable / Too Many Cooks. Carol Finch

hair glowed like a halo in the moonlight. Jake wondered how that thick mane would look if she set it free to flow over her shoulders and down her back. Damn but she was a pretty woman. He wished he hadn’t noticed. Good thing he was waist deep in cold water. Otherwise, he might embarrass himself.

      “I’m not going anywhere until we’ve spent quality time together,” Moriah insisted. “Take another deep breath.”

      Muttering, Jake did as he was told. He scooped up the mutt to give the soggy animal a rest after swimming circular laps.

      “The problem with developing a structured routine is that we don’t take time off to enjoy life’s simple pleasures,” she commented. “We have to be impulsive occasionally. We have to figure out what makes us happy and reward ourselves with enjoyable pursuits. What makes you happy, Jake?”

      He thought about that for a moment. To his dismay, he couldn’t think of anything other than checking on his sisters. Good gad!

      “Difficult question?” she asked gently. “Obviously it’s been too long since you really let loose to remember what you like to do for leisure and entertainment.”

      “No, it hasn’t,” he said defensively. “I told you I like sex, plenty of sex with a disgustingly large number of different women to appease my obsessive penchant for variety and change of pace. I’m a card-carrying sexaholic.”

      “You might as well know your sisters already informed me that your only dates are the ones they manipulate you into taking out.”

      “And they’ll pay dearly for talking out of school,” he said, and scowled.

      “Kim and Lisa want to help you. I want to help you find yourself.”

      “I’m not lost. I know exactly where the hell I am and you can help most by leaving,” he snapped. “The water is cold and I’d like to get out!”

      “I’ll leave when you admit to me, and to yourself, that it’s time to change your predictable, monotonous lifestyle and open your mind to developing a few hobbies.”

      “Fine,” he grumbled. “I need a hobby. Are you happy now?”

      “No, because you’re patronizing me.”

      Jake sighed irritably. He was cold, tired and in no mood for this compulsory stress-reducing session. “Is this the way you impose your carefree philosophy on your guests? You drive them into the river and baptize them with your devil-may-care theories?”

      “I advocate living life to its fullest, most promising potential. It’s not the same as devil-may-care,” she corrected pleasantly. “Most of my guests have acknowledged their problem before they arrive. You, however, require more drastic measures to open your eyes and see the light…. I’ll be around in the morning to take you horseback riding.”

      “What time?” he asked.

      She grinned. “We try to avoid schedules because we’re here to break routines. We’ll be getting together at various times of the day.”

      Well, so much for accusing her of establishing a routine, he mused sourly.

      “I’ll be back later with a glass of warm milk before bedtime,” she said, rising gracefully to her feet.

      “I don’t drink milk, warm or otherwise,” he muttered stubbornly.

      “Would you prefer a small glass of wine instead?”

      “What I would prefer,” he said through chattering teeth, “is to get the hell out of the river and go home where I belong!”

      Moriah strolled down the riverbank to face him directly. Her perpetual smile vanished, he noted. She stood with feet askance, arms crossed over her chest. Her stance indicated that she meant business. “You aren’t going anywhere until I find a way to push your fun button.”

      “I don’t have a fun button,” he retorted.

      “Oh, yes, you do. I’m making it my mission in life to find it and to push it—hard and often,” she said very determinedly. “We’re going to find something here at the resort that you like to do and you’re going to do it—cheerfully!”

      “Cheerfully choking you has exceptional appeal,” he couldn’t resist saying.

      “Well, at least there’s something that makes you happy. That’s a good place to start.” She plucked up his soggy clothes. “Later, Jake.”

      When she walked away, Jake headed for shore, trying to ignore the nip of his conscience. He was being extraordinarily hard on Moriah, he knew, but it felt necessary for some reason. Something about that woman put him on the defensive and kept him there. He didn’t want to like her…but he did. He didn’t want to be attracted to her…but he was.

      Certainly, nothing could come of his interest because it was a dead-end street. He had his responsibilities and she obviously had hers. Whatever he was feeling—and he sure as hell wasn’t going to examine it too closely—was just physical. He’d done without sex longer than he cared to admit and Moriah sparked awareness in him, was all. All his yammering about sex had simply brought it to his attention and escalated his awareness.

      Jake shrugged on his clothes and walked barefoot up the sandy path. “C’mon, Spitwad. We’ve had enough excitement for the night. Don’t go sniffing out some other varmint.”

      The mutt shook himself off, then trotted obediently at Jake’s heels. The instant Jake entered the cabin he headed for the shower and slathered his body with soap. After scrubbing himself squeaky clean, he wrapped a towel around his hips and strode off to retrieve the scandalous briefs his mischievous sisters packed for him.

      Jake pulled up short when he saw Moriah hovering beside the door, a short glass of wine in hand and a shocked expression on her face. Her gaze drifted over his bare chest, skidded over the damp towel, then shot upward and a tinge of color blossomed in her cheeks. Well, well, Moriah wasn’t quite as immune to him as he thought she was, he noted.

      “Like what you see?” he asked when her gaze made another sweep of his scantily clad body. “Is this one of those Kodak moments? Too bad you didn’t come armed with a camera.”

      She jerked upright, then met his amused gaze. “Sorry. I…um…I thought I’d g-given you enough time to shower and dress b-before…um…delivering your wine,” she stammered, her face aflame. “When y-you didn’t…um…answer m-my knock at the door, I…uh…wanted to make sure you hadn’t done yourself bodily harm.”

      Clearly, she felt awkward and uncomfortable. Devilishly, he wondered what she’d do if he dropped the towel and reached for those candy-apple red bikini briefs. He really should do it. After all, she’d been nagging him to do something reckless and impulsive, hadn’t she?

      “Is there anything else, Mo?” he prompted when she simply stood frozen to the spot, scrutinizing him.

      “Er…no…um…I’ll just set your wine on the table and give you some…uh…privacy.” Like a shot, she zipped across the cabin. In her haste to leave the wine and skedaddle, she clanked the bottom of the stemmed goblet against the edge of the table. The goblet cart-wheeled over the back of her hand. Wine splattered on the tiled floor and glass shattered in a gazillion pieces.

      “Oh, damn, I’m sorry!” Moriah yelped in dismay.

      Amused, Jake watched Moriah hunker down to pick up shards of glass. He noticed her hands shook as she cleaned up her mess. Male pride swelled to gigantic proportions, as he realized that he was having a tremendously unsettling effect on her. Her face was beet-red from the roots of her blond hair to the base of her neck and she was making a big production of not looking in his direction.

      When the pup trotted over to slurp up the spilled wine, Moriah shifted sideways to block the dog and accidentally smacked her head on the sharp corner of the table. The blow caused her to teeter off balance. She reached down to brace herself—and embedded slivers of glass in her hand.

      “Ouch!