Luke rolled the wrecked, but fixable bike inside and leaned it against the wall so that the mud would drip onto the tarp. His very male eyes quickly looked away from Kendle's see-through shirt and slacks. He got a coil of rope and a blanket from a shelf, aware of how her gray eyes lingered on him while he attached the rope to the ceiling near the bunk beds.
He threw a long blanket over it to duplicate the area he had made for her back at the cabin when she'd said she preferred to stay with him, if he didn't mind. "I'll make some coffee while you change," he offered, going to the tarp to take off his muddy boots.
Kendle smiled gratefully, moving behind the blanket. She couldn't wait to be warm and dry again. Being wet reminded her too much of her nightmare on the ocean.
Luke tossed his soaked, mud-streaked coat over the other chair and couldn't stop his eyes from wandering to the slender shadow on the wall as he wiped his face and got the water heating on the stove. He was decades older than her, with blood on his hands that he could never atone for, but he couldn't deny the want. He'd been alone for a long time, and she was beautiful, young, brave… he'd found his eyes watching her for signs of interest.
She had told him that her career had kept her busy, that there was no husband or even a boyfriend to mourn, and he had been able to read nothing else. She was nice, friendly to him, good company, but very careful and closed-off. She'd clearly been through hell, had a fortress around her heart, and Luke had decided he wouldn't even try to breach those walls without at least knowing whether she saw him as an eligible man or just an old man.
"How long did all this take?" she asked from behind the blanket, and Luke forced his eyes away from her alluring shadow, thinking she had to be the strongest female he'd ever met. Even the resourceful island women would still be in tears over that close call, and she sounded like nothing had happened.
"Over four years." He got the cups out, wiping the dust from them, ears listening to her movements.
"Anyone else know it's here?"
"Probably. Everyone out here has a hole-up. It's the way you do things on Pitcairn."
"How long have you lived alone out here?" It was one of the first personal questions she'd asked, and his reluctance to answer was clear when he finally did.