Clutching the folder of copies the lawyer had given me, I lifted my chin slightly, taking one full breath of salty air before I turned away, but not before I caught the pained expression on his face.
You pulled away first, I wanted to tell him. I know better than to reach for you again.
Laurel
Not even two hours later, there was a sharp rap on my door.
I thought I’d made it clear I wanted space from him. Maybe he was more stubborn than I gave him credit for.
Grumbling under my breath, I stood from where I’d been writing an email to update my boss and strode to the front of the house, noting the small wafts of smoky dust that danced around my feet.
The knock repeated and a cold shudder ran up my spine.
Eli was stubborn, but not insistent.
Yanking open the door, I stifled my surprise when it wasn’t Eli on the other side.
It was someone I’d never seen before.
“Ms. Ocean?” The wave of pungent cologne hit me first, my years in menswear the only thing saving me from choking on the spot.
Unease rattled through me. He greeted me like he knew me, though we’d never met before.
Even if I didn’t remember his face, I would’ve remembered the debilitating scent.
I blinked up, absorbing the sight of the tall, imposing bald man who took a domineering stance on the stoop. A quick scan showed an expensive black suit—Tom Ford or Valentino if I had to guess—over a black button-down shirt sans tie. He looked professional—professional at what though was debatable; I could see either businessman or killer at that point.
I cleared my throat, the thought making me stand taller.
“Yes…” I replied warily, shifting my weight so there was more of the door between us.
“So sorry to disturb you,” he continued with a smile that revealed bright white teeth too oval and feminine and soft for his rigid and sharp stature. It was a strange thing to notice at first but it fit with how his presence made me feel—like the smile was only surface deep and what was beneath was more sinister. “My name is Alexander Blackman. I was hoping you might have a minute for me about your business, Ocean Roasters.”
He adjusted his sleeve over a large black and gold watch.
“What about it?” My gaze narrowed.
His smile widened, sensing my discomfort. “I’m the owner of Blackman Brews. We’re a California-based coffee chain, and I’ve been interested in buying your family’s business for some time now.”
Well, I wouldn’t have guessed coffee shop owner—unless it was maybe Starbucks or Dunkin’ Donuts—based on the pricey suit and the watch that looked to be made from an entire bar of gold.
“Did Mr. Ross send you?” I queried, trying to figure out how and why he’d shown up today—the day I’d come home with all the paperwork. I remembered Gavin mentioning a realtor before, but not someone actually interested in purchasing.
“Mr.—” He shook his head, clasping his hands in front of him. “No. I’m here because of your grandfather. So sorry for your loss, by the way. Did he not mention anything to you? About me?”
By the way. He looked professional and he said all the right things but with a tone that only felt wrong.
I shuddered and wiped my expression from my face. “About what?”
I played dumb. Mostly because I wasn’t about to admit to a stranger than I hadn’t spoken to my grandfather before his death.
“I spoke to him on several occasions about selling the business as I’m looking to expand and it seemed like it was getting to be a little too much for him there at the end.” He cleared his throat.
I ducked my head briefly before replying, “No. I wasn’t aware anyone had approached him about it. Then again, I’m not surprised since he never would have thought about selling.”
He smiled again at me with those round teeth like it was supposed to make me feel more comfortable. “I won’t take up too much of your time, but word around town is that you are interested in selling, so I thought I’d stop over and introduce myself and bring my offer to you.”
“I see.” I sounded strangled.
He wasn’t wrong. That was the word around town.
He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a jet-black card with gold emblazoned on the top, Blackman Brews, and handed it to me. “I wrote on the back what I offered your grandfather for the place. You’re welcome to talk to a realtor or appraiser or anyone you trust, but I think you’ll find that it’s a more than generous offer.”
I took the card from him, careful not to brush his fingers in the process. “Well, Mr. Blackman, there was a lot of structural damage from water leaks and disrepair over the years that was found during the robbery—err break-in.” I didn’t know what to call it since no one stole anything and, technically, no one broke in since the door was left unlocked. A destruction of private property? “So, I’m concentrating on having that repaired first.”
He nodded like none of those facts came as a surprise to him.
“Of course. However, the sale could always include a contingency that the building must pass inspection, if you are as eager as I am to move forward.”
He had an answer for everything.
Good businessmen always did. But he didn’t seem like a good businessman.
I should be happy—ecstatic even—that there was a man standing on my doorstep practically begging to buy a building that wasn’t even up to code at the moment, a building I’d been desperate to get rid of two weeks ago.
Yet, all I felt was the same defensive hesitation that came over me earlier when I’d had a similar conversation with Aunt Jackie.
Was I really not interested in selling?
I stepped away from the door and straightened my spine. If I could deal with models and fashion designers and the general population of Los Angeles, I could deal with this Mr. Slick.
“Thank you, Mr. Blackman. I still want to run everything by my lawyer and a realtor if the time comes, but I will certainly take your offer into consideration and get back in touch with you if I’m interested.”
There was barely a flicker of displeasure in his charcoal eyes, like he expected me to sign over the deed to the building at that very second if it were possible.
I clutched the slippery black business card in my hand and folded my arms.
“Of course,” he continued with a voice that was like liquid Mercury, smooth and beautifully fluid, but poisonous if I did anything more than listen. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Ocean. You remind me a lot of your grandfather.” His smile was deadly. “I’m sure you’ll be quicker than him to realize when it’s past time to let something go.”
Was that a threat?
I gulped, feeling the blood drain from my face as he extended a hand. Cold fingers gripped mine in a firm handshake that, if it could’ve shaken me into doing his bidding, it would have.
My hand dropped to my side as I murmured something along the lines of ‘have a nice day’ before shutting the door and sagging against it in relief.
What was wrong with me?
For the first time since I’d come back to the town, something I actually wanted—something that could start to put my life back together—was dropped in my lap twice today, and I recoiled both times.
Two weeks ago, I would’ve told Mr. Slick to follow me right back into town and show me where to sign on the dotted line. A week ago, I wouldn’t be questioning who he was or what he wanted to do with the shop; I wouldn’t be thinking about all the people who’d been involved in putting Roasters back together or all the people who’d brought me food and the unspoken offer of support and a shoulder to cry on; and I definitely wouldn’t be thinking about Mr. Model Magic, who inserted himself into my life where I might not want him even though I needed him, who was helping me—at no cost—get away from this life as soon as I could, and who brought me magic marinara and more-than-magic kisses.
No, I definitely wasn’t thinking about him and what his opi
nion of Mr. Blackman might be.
I’d just begun to push away from the wood as I flipped over the business card to see what this Mr. Blackman thought generations of my family’s hard work and reputation were worth.
Ten million dollars.
The scrawled offer sent me reeling back against the door for support. Ten mil—Ten. Million. Dollars.
I traced over the writing with the tip of my finger to make sure I’d read it correctly. Ten million.
I turned the card back-and-forth, unsure if I was imagining the entire thing, but each time it revealed the same amount. Taking in an unsteady breath, I stared off into the house. I noted the pictures on the walls and the crossword puzzles on the table. The leftovers in the fridge and the fresh bag of coffee Eli had discreetly left the other night.
Simple things.
Simple things that made the biggest difference.
Firming my lips into a determined line, I opened the cupboard under the sink and threw the business card—and his offer—in the trash.
It wasn’t a decision to stay, I told myself. It was just a decision to not sell to Blackman.
There was a difference.
And maybe if I repeated it enough times, it would turn true.
Eli
I shouldn’t be here.
I was the rational one. The composed one. The one everyone turned to, to deal with hard situations because I could keep my head about me.
But when it came to Laurel, all of that went out the window.
No, not out the window—off the goddamn cliffs.
Nothing of how I felt about her was rational. Nothing of my need for her was composed. And I was going to lose my mind if I continued to stay away.
Parking at the end of the drive, I turned off my truck; the only light left was the warm glow emanating from Laurel’s house.
I told myself it was the right thing to stay away from the grieving granddaughter of a man I owed everything to. But I couldn’t. Days apart only proved I’d done the wrong thing by walking away from her. By making her feel like what we had was a mistake.
Days of distraction.
Hours of irritation.
It didn’t matter how much work had to be done. It didn’t matter what anyone said—what advice they offered or support they gave. Nothing eased the torment I felt after leaving her the other night—and walking away from what we both wanted.
And nothing dulled the pain of seeing the exact same torment written on her face when she came out of Gavin’s office; the image of her scarred into my brain.
Her gaze was cloaked with determination—the kind that rose precariously tall, built on sand and stilts; it looked strong and mighty from the top, but from where I stood, I saw it wavered when no one was looking and how easily it could crumble.
Stepping down from my truck, I pushed my desire down deep where it wouldn’t cloud my judgment and strode toward the front door, ignoring the rain that dampened my shirt.
With a heavy breath, I knocked firmly on the door that opened a moment later, Laurel appearing with her hair blanketing her shoulders and pink staining her freckled cheeks.
“Eli,” she breathed my name and it felt like an all-too-short stroke down my dick that jumped uncooperatively in my pants.
So much for ignoring my desire.
Thankfully, she had one of Larry’s old sweatshirts on, so I wasn’t taunted with a display of her perky nipples.
The momentary surprise that parted her mouth and warmed my name disappeared as her tongue swiped a cold shoulder back over her lips, “What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk,” I replied, stepping toward her until she was forced to back up and let me into the house.
“It’s been a long day. I don’t think now is the best time,” she said, shutting the door and turning on her heel to head for the living room.
It was a subtle cue to show myself out, but I didn’t listen. She could damn well throw me out if she really wanted.
I hesitated a moment while following her, noticing how clean the house was as I walked through it. Stacks of dishes had been removed from the cupboards, washed, and now sat on the drying rack. The dining table was wiped and set with placemats I hadn’t even seen before. The lights reflected off crystal-clear windows, the floors gleamed, and the carpet looked like new.
Even if this was prompted by the fireplace incident, she’d done more than just clean up from the smoke and ash.
“Laurel…” I drawled with a low voice, watching as she fluffed the pillows on the couch, determined not to look at me. “I’m not leaving until we talk.”
“Really?” she balked, standing and planting her weight on one hip. Her gaze pierced me with two bright blue flames of fury. “About what? I already know George can fix the pipes. I already know everything is still on schedule—”
I cut in, “I’m not here because of Roasters. I’m here because of the other night.”
Hurt flashed across her face. “In that case, I think you said everything you needed to say, and even if you didn’t, I got your message loud and clear. So, you can go.”
God, she was so beautiful, even when she was hurt… even when she was mad.
“Dammit, Laurel,” I growled. “My message was bullshit.” I shoved a hand through my hair, days of tension swirling like a tornado inside me while I tried to remain calm.
“No, you were right to leave. It was a mistake. What happened between us was—”
She squealed in surprise as I closed the space between us, wedging her between my body and the wall, my palms flat on the textured wallpaper on either side of her head as though barring the world from interrupting us.
“I shouldn’t have walked away from what happened,” I rasped. “It wasn’t a mistake. It was the furthest thing from a mistake…”
“Then why did you leave?” she demanded, her pulse fluttering against her neck.
“Because I thought it was the right thing,” I admitted raggedly. “I thought it was what you deserved—what you needed. I’m trying so damn hard to help you… to help you get through this whatever way you need to. If that means selling. If that means leaving. Whatever the hell it means… and I thought you deserved more than to risk muddling that decision with desire,” I told her, pausing before I added with a low, hoarse tone. “And, I thought it was what I owed him—respect enough to not fuck you on the goddamn living room floor like I wanted.”
The color in her cheeks darkened, along with the depths of her eyes.
“So then why are you here? Nothing has changed,” she insisted breathlessly. “You’ve done your duty. You can sleep soundly in chivalry now.”
A low growl of frustration boiled in my chest.
“I’m here because the last two days I’ve thought of nothing but you. Nothing, Laurel. Not Roasters. Not Larry. Not how I should try to convince you to stay nor how Larry might kill me if he knew how I felt. No, Laurel. I’ve thought of nothing but you,” I ground out, laying everything bare before her. “And how bad I fucking want you. Not for this town. Not for the business. But all for me.”
I felt the sway of her body as it leaned closer to mine, drawn to the raw need I couldn’t contain.
I reached over and tucked strands of her hair behind her ear, giving myself inches of excuses to touch her. The barest brush of her cheek against the backs of my knuckles sent off warning flares of lust to every corner of my brain.
“I’ve thought of what would’ve happened if I hadn’t left, if I hadn’t stopped kissing you… if I hadn’t stopped touching you…” I groaned, my dick throbbing against my jeans. “And no matter how many reasons I stacked in my corner, they were nothing but a pile of bullshit. The only thing I came here for tonight is you.”
My thumbs brushed over her cheeks, moving lower until they caught the edge of her chin and tipped her face to mine.
“Even if it changes nothing?” she pressed, her eyes searching mine through a murky mist of disbelief, expecting me to pull away again. “Even if I stil
l sell Roasters and leave?”
I’d thought the worst thing would be for desire to affect her opinion of Roasters and her future. I was wrong. The worst thing was to hear her now, desperate to know my desire for her was separate from my hope that she’d stay. Desperate to know if she was one more obligation I was beholden to.
Time ebbed away, pulling back so slowly until it stopped, and the only sound between us was the soft, unsteady breaths falling from her lips.
“You know that this—us hasn’t had anything to do with the damn coffee shop for a long fucking time,” I swore roughly. “Even if it changes nothing for Roasters… even if you leave…” I paused, the thought searing pain into my chest. “That’s like asking if I want to see the sun rise today even if it might not rise tomorrow… There’s nothing going to stop me from taking every moment I can get with you.” I pressed a kiss to the side of her temple, sliding my mouth over to her ear to finally whisper, “Or from taking every last inch of everything you want to give.”
She drew a shuddered breath, her breasts dragging against my chest as her heart hammered in a fierce pace with mine.
Need. Hope. Fear. Lust. They all swirled like a vortex in her eyes that blinked open and pulled me deeper. “Are you sure I’m worth the risk?”
“Fuck, Laurel.” I crowded her, pressing my body flush against her small soft curves and dragging my lips across her cheek until they were just a breath away from hers. “You’re worth everything.”
Life and loss, grief and duty… the murky expectations that come with such heavy circumstances faded in the face of the only thing that mattered—whatever was between us was unstoppable.
“So, what are you waiting for?” she murmured hoarsely. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”
“Oh, I’m going to do more than kiss you, sweetheart,” I promised as my lips slanted over hers.
The first touch, warm and soft, lasted only for a second before it deepened into something raw and viciously honest. She kissed me like that one point of contact was the only thing of clarity—like it was the only thing for certain that she knew that she wanted, that her heart wanted too badly for her mind to convince her to ignore.
Beholden: A Small-Town Standalone Romance (Carmel Cove Book 1) Page 20