No Strings Attached. Susan Andersen

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       CHAPTER SIX

      THE SUN WAS a spectacular flaming ball minutes shy of sinking behind the rugged peaks of the Olympic Mountains Sunday evening when Luc let himself into his studio. Tossing his keys into the wooden bowl on the coffee table as he passed by, he strode over to admire the panoramic scenery through the slider. Before he could lock on to it, however, a movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention, and turning his head, he spotted Tasha out on their shared terrace.

      Or more accurately, he spotted her feet. Within hours of his move-in, she had thrown up a screen of live plants to divide the veranda, lining them up to march from the wall that connected their two units to within three feet of the balcony railing. Even with a little space between each one, it made a surprisingly effective barrier between her part of the deck and his.

      So all he could see now was the end of a white wicker chaise lounge and its cushion in the same cheery blue-and-green patterned fabric she’d used to furnish a good part of his studio. Atop the cushion, he caught a glimpse of the long pale-skinned bare feet he still remembered as clearly as if seven years hadn’t passed since he’d last seen them.

      He stared in bemusement, for they appeared to be performing a complicated seated dance, clearly the movement that had grabbed his attention in the first place. Her feet heel-toed across the cushion, bopping from one side to the other. Her toes pointed toward the fabric one moment, then arced back toward her shins the next as she segued into differing rhythms. Within the ever-changing patterns he caught here-and-gone glimpses of the candy-bright polish decorating her toenails, the color of which he couldn’t determine from inside his studio.

      Suddenly it seemed important that he learn what that color was, and he opened the sliding door.

      Laughter and voices floated up from the street. In the bay, several boat engines rumbled softly while boaters followed the five-miles-an-hour restriction in the protected inlet as they steered toward the marina to put up for the night. This town had a laid-back, feel-good vibe that Luc could appreciate after all the cartel hot spots he’d lived in.

      The terrace ran the width of the building, but wasn’t very deep, and since Tasha’s apartment was larger than his studio, so was her share of the outdoor space. It didn’t take Luc more than a few long strides to reach the improvised plant divider, and he rounded the end of it, only to stop dead at his first full-on sight of her. For a moment he simply stood there and stared.