She drew back, her eyes as round as saucers. "You mean you think we're going to…" Her voice trailed off.
"Absolutely. Don't you?"
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"It's a great idea. But even if it wasn't, it's still going to happen."
"How do you know?"
He looked down into her warm, chocolatey, confused eyes and fell a little farther into the black abyss of emotional commitment yawning in front of him. "Because I can't seem to stop it. There's something between us, and I can't walk away from it. Much as I'd like to, I can't."
"I can."
He searched her eyes and knew she wasn't telling the truth. "Liar," he said softly.
A small smile lifted her lips. "Well, I can try."
"Forget it. It won't work. Believe me, I know." He dropped a quick kiss on her nose. "Now, I suggest we enjoy one more cup of coffee before heading out on our canoeing expedition."
She groaned. "In other words, let's put this embarrassing episode behind us so we can move on to other, more potentially embarrassing episodes."
"You nailed it."
"Great. I guess I'd better tell you I know diddly-squat about canoeing."
"Don't worry. You're in good hands. We'll have a lot of fun."
She eyed him with clear suspicion. "Define fun."
He laughed. "Trust me on this."
An hour later, Melanie was fervently wishing she hadn't trusted him on this.
She stood at the end of the floating dock and pointed down, a sinking feeling in her stomach. "What is that?"
"That," Chris said, his voice filled with suppressed laughter, "is a canoe."
"Canoe, my ass. It's nothing but a carved-out, six-foot cigar." She planted her hands on her hips. "If you think I'm getting in that skinny excuse for a boat, you're out of your mind."
Chris cocked a brow at her. "You said canoeing was something you wanted to do. So here we are, at beautiful Lake Lanier, a canoe rented and at our disposal for the next hour." He crossed his arms over his chest. "So what's the problem?"
Melanie could tell he was trying not to laugh at her. Raising her chin, she said, "When I said canoeing I was speaking strictly metaphorically."
His lips quirked. "Oh, really?"
"Of course. When I said I wanted to go canoeing I meant I wanted to go on a Caribbean cruise." She nodded vigorously, knowing she was beat but willing to try one last, desperate attempt to save herself. "Clearly you're much too literal-minded to appreciate the finer points of symbolism. Canoe. Cruise. Both boat words that start with c. It's really rather interesting how-"
"Yeah, it's fascinating. We'll talk about a cruise some other time. Right now we're going canoeing."
Drat. The guy had a one-track mind. Melanie looked out at the sparking lake. More than a dozen canoes dotted the calm waters nearby. Farther out she could see speedboats and wave runners racing over the small waves. A shaded picnic area stood off to the left, and several families were taking advantage of the facilities, setting out their coolers, lighting the charcoal grills.
She glanced down at the pencil-thin craft tied to the end of the dock and sighed. Next time she rattled off a list of things she wanted to do before she died, she was going to make damn sure she replaced "canoeing" with "three months in Tahiti."
Drawing a resolute breath, she said, "All right. Hoist the anchor, el capitán."
"Atta girl," Chris said with a big grin. "Just sit still and you'll do great. You're gonna love this."
Melanie somehow doubted that, but she was willing to give it a go.
Besides, how hard could it be to drive a canoe?
Ten minutes later, Melanie knew exactly how hard it was.
Pretty damn hard.
Holding Chris's hand, she gingerly stepped into the canoe. Using extreme caution, she sat down while Chris, who still stood on the dock, untied the craft from the aluminum cleat.
Once her butt was settled on the hard wooden seat, Melanie breathed a sigh of relief. This wasn't so bad, she decided, clutching the sides of the craft. In fact, it was sorta fun.
Until she sneezed.
One minute she was sitting in the canoe, the next she was underwater.
She came up, sputtering, pushing her hair from her eyes. "What the hell did you do that for?" she yelled at Chris, who stood on the dock clutching his sides and roaring with laughter.
"I didn't do anything," he said, shaking his head. "I told you to sit still. Canoes are very tippy."
"Tippy? All I did was sneeze!"
"You must have sneezed too hard. Don't worry. You'll get used to it. It just takes practice."
"Yeah. Practice," she muttered, swimming to the dock. "That's just what I want to do."
Disgruntled, Melanie climbed the wooden ladder and stomped to the end of the dock. Water dripped from her body and squished from her Nikes. While Chris pulled the rope attached to the canoe and righted the craft, she squeezed water from her clothes.
He shot her a grin. "Wanna give it another try?"
"Might as well. I'm certainly not worried about getting wet." She sizzled a baleful glare at the offending canoe. "Anyway, I refuse to let this excuse for kindling beat me. I am woman. Hear me roar."
"That's my girl." Once again he handed her down into the canoe.
The instant he let go of her, she felt the damn canoe slipping out from under her feet. It was like trying to stand on wet ice. At least this time she was ready when she hit the water. She surfaced and, ignoring the fact that he stood on the dock laughing his ass off, swam to the ladder, pulled herself up, and squished over to him.
"Wanna quit?" he asked, an infuriating grin on his face. His dry face.
"Absolutely not," Melanie said between gritted teeth. "This has become a quest."
He reached out and touched the skin under her eye. "I think you need to invest in waterproof mascara. You look like a pirate."
Melanie planted her hands on her wet hips, tapped her soggy Nike, and glared at him.
Holding his hands up in surrender, he said, "Whoa! A cute pirate. A very, very cute pirate. The cutest. Really."
"Pirate, huh? Ask me where my buccaneers are."
"Okay. Where are your buccaneers?"
She waggled her brows at him. "Under my buccan' hat."
He threw back his head and laughed. "Ready to try it again, matey?"
"Sure." She eyed him up and down. "But this time you get in first."
Chris paddled the canoe and covertly observed Melanie through the dark lenses of his Ray-Bans. She was nearly dry and sat with her eyes closed, her face turned up to the sun. He noted with amusement that she sat perfectly still, clutching the edges of the canoe with a white-knuckled grip.
His gaze slid over her and his stomach tightened. Her hair curled in wild profusion around her face, the sun shooting the brown locks with shafts of reddish fire. Her skin glowed with the sheen of some kind of sunscreen that made her smell like a delicious combination of coconut and pineapple. She reminded him of one of those tropical drinks with the paper umbrellas-sweet, cool, and scrumptious.
His gaze drifted downward, taking in her long, slim legs. She'd left her soggy Nikes on the dock to dry, and now her pink-tipped toes peeked at him. Even her feet were cute. Chris shook his head. Damn, he had it bad.
And the fact that she was such a good sport about getting dunked in the lake made him like her even more. Every other woman he knew would have pitched a hissy fit in a similar situation.
But not Melanie. Nope, she'd just taken it in stride, wrung the water out of her clothes, pushed her hair out of her eyes, and grown determined to beat the canoe at its own game.