Summer on Mirror Lake

by JoAnn Ross

  “I’ve never done anything like that before,” she murmured. And wasn’t that a staggering understatement? “That woman wasn’t me.”

  His lips quirked. “You could have fooled me.”

  She turned onto her side. As thrilling as the sex had been, now that the fog was drifting from her mind, she wished they’d made it to the bed in that stunning master suite she’d seen earlier. Because if he was finally going to open up and initiate a conversation, it would have been nice to be able to cover herself with a sheet.

  “I never have sex with men I don’t know. Especially, well—” she waved her hand, toward the door “—against-the-wall sex.”

  “You know me.”

  “Not really. We both may have grown up here, but I only actually met you at the boat shop.”

  “True. But technically it was against the door.”

  “I’m well aware of that. And thank you for avoiding the door handle. And for having a condom so handy.” Not to mention thinking of using it, when she wasn’t sure, with all those explosions going off, she would have thought of it. Another thing that was so not her.

  “One thing I took from Boy Scouts is the motto ‘be prepared.’”

  “You were a Boy Scout?” While nowhere near the rebel Aiden had once been, she couldn’t imagine Gabriel putting on a uniform and marching in lockstep down Water Street in the Fourth of July parade.

  “For a while. I had this dumb need to try to beat Quinn’s troop merit badge record. Which, by the time I was fourteen, I realized was impossible, so I dropped out and let him be the only Eagle Scout—well, besides my dad—in the family. Quinn was always the superstar. At everything. Which was why him deciding to brew beer was probably the last thing any of us would have expected. Though,” he said, seeming to think about it for a moment, “Mom didn’t seem all that surprised.”

  Apparently having sex had opened him up. Chelsea was surprised that he’d given her that private glimpse into the Mannion family dynamics. As successful, as wealthy as he was, could he possibly still not feel as if he measured up to his eldest brother?

  “He seems very happy.”

  “As a clam,” he agreed. Although his tone was easygoing enough, his shuttered eyes revealed the topic closed. “I suppose we should get you home. Unless you’re up for round two?”

  She felt the change, like a wind from the winter sea blowing over them. Chilling her skin. And, she recognized, that portion of her heart that had, for those few minutes, flung open. Being with this man was not easy. And she’d always done easy. Now she wanted to ask the real Gabe Mannion to stand up. Was he the gruff boat builder? The genial host who’d given her a tour of the house and cooked her dinner? The masterful alpha male who’d just taken her against the door?

  As tension strung between them, Chelsea reminded herself that her heart had nothing to do with what they’d just done. She hadn’t heard that he’d been out with anyone since he’d returned to town, so, having gone without sex for these past weeks, he undoubtedly needed to scratch an itch. And then she’d conveniently shown up in that damn rowboat and lost her mind.

  “I really do need to get home,” she said, ignoring her hormones, which had an entirely different idea.

  “Your call,” he repeated what he’d said earlier.

  As he left the foyer to dispense with the condom, Chelsea hurriedly scrambled to dress before he returned, shoved her glasses on her face and told herself that if they’d been in New York, and happened to have ended up at the same bar, he wouldn’t have looked at her twice.

  As long as she remembered that, she’d get past this embarrassing episode and be fine.

  While they drove in silence through the night, the North Star rising in the sky directly ahead of them, Chelsea thought of all those ancient sailors, including, undoubtedly, the Vikings, who’d used that very same star to navigate.

  Wouldn’t it be lovely if only life came with your own personal star to guide you through the storms to a safe harbor?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ALTHOUGH SHE REMAINED quiet on the drive back to town, Gabe could practically hear the wheels busily turning in her head. Was her mind tempting her, as his was him, with thoughts of what else they could be doing right now rather than driving through the darkening night? That hot Viking plunderer dream came back. After the last half hour, it was no longer merely a memory, but a probability.

  Unlike Aiden, who’d always seemed to go out of his way to be the polar opposite of their eldest brother, growing up, Gabe had always asked himself, What Would Quinn Do? Partly because he’d admired his brother’s goal to achieve success in a larger arena than what their small hometown offered. And he’d considered, during these past weeks, a very strong streak of sibling rivalry he hadn’t realized was still lurking inside him had wanted to not merely equal, but surpass his elder brother’s success. He’d never been surprised by Quinn’s swift rise to legal heights, but as impressive as that career climb had been, as much money as he’d probably been making, as booming a market as Seattle had become, it wasn’t, and never would be, New York City.

  Of course, Gabe suspected that most Seattleites would be quick to point out that their beloved Emerald City on the Sound was far superior, in all the ways that counted, to Manhattan. Yet, every time he saw the towering skyline as his plane came in for a landing at JFK, he recalled the lyrics Chelsea had brought up about how if you could make it in New York, you could make it anywhere.

  Well, he’d damn well made it. In spades. Another few years, and he could even top what Carter—who’d spent more time screwing and drinking these past years than working—had achieved. Of course, why should Carter Kensington have bothered with work when he’d had Gabe to bring in accounts for him?

  Gabe knew that the board had a senior partner’s seat to fill. He was also well aware that they’d turned a blind eye to Carter’s reckless behavior for a very long time because of him having worked double duty for all these years. So, despite taking this summer off, Gabe was the logical, the only real choice.

  By the new year, he’d have achieved the goal he’d had in his mind when he’d accepted Carter Kensington’s job offer. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had other choices. Despite his small-town Pacific Northwest roots and lack of decades-long East Coast business and social connections, several top firms had bid for him before he’d left Columbia. But none of them had come with a mentor, he’d realized before the interview was over, that he could someday surpass.

  Which was why he’d worked longer hours than anyone at Harborstone. Why he’d given up any semblance of a personal life. Why he’d never returned home for holidays, birthdays, anniversaries and even his only sister’s engagement party. Why he’d put his own ego aside not only to let Carter take credit for much of that work—knowing that the senior members of the board weren’t blind to what was going on—but had also been willing to play babysitter to an adult man who’d never grown up.

  His first month on the job, Gabe had drawn two red lines in the sand. The first one was that he’d never overlook or cover up any illegal or unethical business act Carter might do. The second was that he would never serve as an alibi for Carter with any of his wives.

  Not that he’d wanted Carter to drop dead. That had never, not once, entered his mind. His timeline had been to rightfully claim his place with that elite school of big fish at the top of the food chain within the next two years. But Gabe couldn’t deny that by Carter’s passing, he was now on a fast track to achieving his goal.

  “And what—” he heard the doctor’s damn voice echoing in his mind again “—has that gotten you?”

  I’m not done yet, he mentally answered it back.

  Although he hated to admit it, Gabe had come to the reluctant conclusion that the snarky doctor had been right about him needing a break. When he’d spilled his guts about the funeral episode, Aiden, who’d done multiple deployments and had
gone undercover to take down bad guys in LA, had pointed out that stress was stress. “If work causes you to pass out,” his brother had said, “you’re probably doing it wrong.”

  So, he’d take this time to recoup. Then, once the summer was over, he’d come roaring back, stronger than ever.

  * * *

  AS SOON AS they pulled up in front of the house, Chelsea opened the door of the SUV to get out, intending to escape, but Gabriel caught her arm.

  “My dad taught me to always walk a girl to the door after a date.”

  “This wasn’t a date.”

  “We had wine. Dinner. We talked. Had sex, though I’m hoping for a do-over to demonstrate that I have better moves than your average caveman.”

  With her mind still spinning, there was no way she’d been going to admit that apparently she had a thing for cavemen. Who knew?

  She found herself wishing, as they walked up the steps to the double front door of the olive green, gingerbread-trimmed Victorian, that she hadn’t blistered her palms. Not because they were beginning to burn again, but perhaps, just maybe, otherwise, he’d have held her hand.

  And wasn’t that high school thinking? Next she’d be wanting to wear his letterman’s sweater. After their encounter in the boat shop, despite every bit of common sense she possessed, she’d looked up the Honeymoon Harbor yearbook online for the year he’d graduated and had seen along with the young entrepreneurs’ club, the Future Business Leaders club, and Boys’ State, he’d also run track. Not hurdles, relays or sprints, but long-distance, which, she thought, suited him. It was one of the few sports she could think of that required you to be part of a team, while still allowing you to be an individual.

  She’d seen students running on trails in the woods, at the lakeshore, and one April Monday when she’d had lunch with Jolene, Farrah and Lily at the park. They’d been enjoying a lunch of clam chowder and smoked coho salmon BLTs in the historic Roosevelt dining room at the Lake Quinault lodge as the runners had passed by the windows, looking a bit like ghosts in the mist and fog rising from the lake.

  Chelsea wondered if he still ran. Which, despite New York having a marathon, seemed as if it might be impractical with all those long hours he’d mentioned. Unless he never slept.

  And why was she even thinking about this? Why did it matter?

  Because, she admitted, if they spent too much more time together he could matter. And then what?

  “Thank you for the lovely dinner,” she said. Then cringed inwardly. Who spoke like that these days? She may as well have been returning to Downton Abbey. Which, in turn, brought to mind Elizabeth Bennet’s feelings after dancing in circles at Netherfield with the frustratingly enigmatic Mr. Darcy. For the first time since reading Pride and Prejudice (she’d also watched many of the movie adaptions and the miniseries with Colin Firth, who’d always be her true Darcy), Chelsea finally understood exactly how Lizzy could be both attracted to and frustrated by the man.

  His lips quirked again. Not in a smirk, but amusement. She was wondering if he was laughing at her when he put his arm around her, low on her hips, and drew her close.

  With the confidence of a man who’d probably kissed more women than he could count, this time he didn’t rush. His lips teased hers, lingering, tasting at their leisure in a lengthy exploration that instead of engulfing her in flames as his earlier kisses had, trapped her in gauzy layers of sensation.

  His other hand gathered up her hair, which had fallen loose around her shoulders while she’d been rowing across the lake. Once again, he was taking control, but once again, she liked it. A lot. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip, just hard enough to send desire surging through her like a bolt of lightning from a summer storm. Someone had trembled.

  Him?

  Or her?

  What did it matter, when, despite already having two (!) orgasms, she was so desperately hungry, and Gabriel so blatantly aroused? Knowing she’d had the same effect on him as he did on her was proving an aphrodisiac in itself.

  Was he actually turning her around and around? Or was that spinning, dizzying feeling just in her head? Before she could decide, he lifted his head, and with a touch as gentle as one of the rare snowflakes that had fallen on Honeymoon Harbor last Christmas, he ran a fingertip over her still-tingling lips. “I knew you’d be trouble. As soon as you walked into the shop.”

  No one had ever referred to her that way, but instead of being insulted, she decided she rather liked it. It made her sound dangerous, like some femme fatale wearing a sexy, body-hugging dress, killer heels and dark lipstick who’d sashay into a film noir detective’s seedy office and get him mixed up in murder while searching for a missing black bird.

  “One more. For the long, lonely road home,” he said. Then kissed her again, a light touch of lips that promised so much more.

  As he strolled back to the Range Rover that undoubtedly cost as much as, if not more than, she made in a year, Chelsea had an urge to call him back. One she managed, just barely, to resist.

  * * *

  AFTER A RESTLESS night reliving her time at Eagles Watch with Gabriel Mannion, tossing and turning, achieving—according to her wrist Fitbit—a total of three hours’ sleep, Chelsea woke with a headache, stuffed-up nose, sinuses that felt as if they’d been stuffed with an entire roll of cotton batting, and a throat that felt as if someone had taken a sandpaper block to it. Which didn’t help as she started hacking like a cat trying to throw up a fur ball.

  “Oh, great.” She recognized the drill, having had one cold a year for most of her life. And unlike during the cold and rainy winter season when it would make sense, hers always hit in the middle of the summer. Which also happened to be her busiest time at the library.

  The only good news was that today was Monday.

  Forcing her aching body out of bed, she brushed her teeth, washed her face, tossed down two Advil, gargled with salt water, and warmed a rice-filled sinus mask in the microwave. Then dragged her body back to the bedroom and climbed under the covers.

  As she lay there, hoping the padded warm mask over her eyes and nose would help clear her head, she thought back on last night. Her hands were still slightly blistered, but not punctured, which, she’d read on the web, meant that new skin was already growing.

  So, along with not being expected at work today, she was on a roll. If only she knew what to do about Gabriel Mannion.

  All night long, her thoughts had kept spinning back to him and that conversation they’d had after dinner. Unlike a lot of men, who’d keep you agonizing and wondering, he’d been honest and straightforward with her, telling her that nothing would come of their shared attraction except a summer affair. Which was tempting. Even after that wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am door sex. Which, right there, should be enough to have her running in the opposite direction.

  But as much as she’d tried to tell herself that it had been all about sex, the inescapable truth was that it had been more. Although she knew she was nowhere as experienced as Gabriel, she hadn’t spent the years since high school in a convent. She’d had sex. Granted, not raunchy, dirty sex like she’d had last night. But no man had ever suggested she was a dud in bed. She’d read Cosmo. She knew the ten things most likely to turn a man on. She could spot seven ways to know when your man wanted sex (besides the obvious one), and an article in the far more scientific Psychology Today claimed that, on average, males thought about sex nineteen times a day. Which, if true, suggested that there were very few times they wouldn’t want sex.

  She knew that hot, wet kisses made a man horny (duh), even knew how to do a lap dance, though she seriously couldn’t imagine ever actually performing one.

  And if there was anything last night had proven, it was that she now also knew that she could avoid freaking out when she came out of a sex coma and found herself lying on the floor, half-naked, next to a fully dressed man.

  Chelsea knew all t
hat and more. But she’d never known a man, been with a man, who’d possessed the power to crash through those walls she’d spent most of her life building. To give her a view, however fleeting, of all those feelings she’d run from for so many years. For the first time since she’d been eleven years old, a year younger than Hannah was now, she’d allowed herself to be vulnerable, to release the reins of control that she’d always held on to as if her life had depended on it.

  And nothing bad had happened. In fact, those few minutes against that tall, wide wooden door had probably been etched into her memory banks for life. If only she’d stayed...

  “You’ve got a stuffed up head,” she muttered on a cough. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

  Unfortunately, other parts of her body, unaffected by invading germs, hadn’t gotten the memo.

  Now, looking back, she wondered if having had no one to take care of her but herself for most of her life was why it had felt so glorious to let loose and hand those reins to someone else. If only for a few stolen moments.

  Even as wretched as she felt this morning, the memory of that door sex sent streams of warmth flowing through her. Unless she had a fever, which would be preferable. Fevers could be gotten rid of by taking some aspirin. She feared getting rid of the imprint Gabriel had left on her body and her mind would be a great deal more difficult. Taking off the eye mask, which had cooled, she retrieved her Kindle from the bed table, scrolled down the list of books and decided yet again that she really had to widen her reading.

  The majority were historical, contemporary and YA teen romances. Or biographies.

  The romances were too dangerous, given that Gabriel had taken up residence in her fuzzy mind, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d end up thinking about sex nineteen times a day. And how distracting would that be? How did men get anything done?