by Nina Lindsey
His mouth compressed. “I don’t need you to rescue me.”
“Please. I’m still working on rescuing myself. But we agreed to a truce. And you can’t kiss me one minute and walk away from me the next. I will not let you treat me like a girl who’s turning your life upside down just because we’re attracted to each other and I’m standing my ground. If we…” she paused for a breath and gestured between them, “…if we can stick to talking and olive branches, it might be possible for us to maintain some civility.”
He stalked to the other side of the room, putting the bed between them. His back muscles bunched with tension under his shirt.
“And remember.” She flexed her fingers. “You kissed me first.”
He studied her, his eyebrows snapping together. “I’m leaving in less than three weeks.”
“I know.”
“I live across the country.”
“I know. We’re not going to have a relationship.” An odd pressure tightened her heart. Turning away from him, she picked up a sugar cookie from the plate resting on a table. “I’m talking about…well, maybe it’s possible that we could be something resembling friends.”
She bit into the cookie and risked a glance at him. He dragged a hand down his face and sighed.
“I work a lot.” Deep lines appeared on either side of his mouth.
“I figured.”
“I don’t…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t have a lot of friends. I never have.”
Her heart constricted further. “I figured that too. You can be a little scary.”
“You’re not scared of me.”
“Well, I’m apparently the only one who knows that big bad Hunter Armstrong can purr.” Aria set the plate in the middle of the bed. She kicked off her sandals and settled against the pillows, indicating the cookies. “Want one?”
“I don’t eat sugar.”
“Big surprise.” She bit into another cookie and put the plate on the nightstand. “Where’s the TV remote? We can watch a movie.”
“The TV is broken.” He sat on the other side of the bed.
“Does Mrs. Higgins know that?”
“Yeah.” He swung his legs onto the bed and adjusted the pillows behind his back. “She offered to bring in another one, but I don’t watch TV.”
“Too busy working?”
“Something like that.”
Aria brushed crumbs from her fingers and shifted to face him. “So, what do you do for fun?”
He grunted. “I don’t have fun.”
“Come on.” She poked him in the side. “Chasing Porkchop was fun.”
“I don’t have intentional fun.”
Aria laughed. “You missed your calling. You should’ve been a Victorian butler, all stoic and serious.”
Amusement flickered in his eyes. “You didn’t miss your calling, Crazy Cat Lady.”
“I almost did.” She fluffed one of the pillows under her head. “Unlike you, I never had a plan for life. I drifted a lot, going from one great idea to the next, without ever getting anything done. Part of the problem was that my parents and sisters were always there as a safety net.”
“Why was that a problem?”
“Because sometimes you have to fall. Or at least, I did. I had to pick myself up, and I realized I also had to learn how to be independent. To trust that I could actually make a plan and carry it through.”
She tucked her hands underneath the pillow and studied the austere lines of his profile, which were softened by his beautifully shaped mouth and thick eyelashes.
“Why don’t you know where your family is?” she asked quietly.
He let out his breath in a long rush, his gaze fixed on the opposite wall. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
“Why?” He slanted her a narrow glance. “It has nothing to do with…anything.”
“It’s your story.”
“Not anymore.”
“Your story doesn’t just leave you.” She pushed herself to one elbow. “Neither does your history. It’s part of you, even if sometimes you wish it wasn’t.”
“You’re trying to figure out why I am the way I am?” Hunter shook his head with an abrupt laugh. “It’s pretty straightforward. My mother died when I was eleven. I was sent to live with my uncle. It was a shitty situation, but I didn’t have a choice. Getting into college meant I could leave all that behind.”
“What about your father?”
He shrugged as if it were irrelevant, but the lines of his body tensed. “He was a deadbeat. Only worked when we ran out of money, which was often. Before my mother died, we moved around a lot because they never paid rent. My father took off after leaving me with my uncle. Never saw him again.”
Aria sat up, her insides twisting. “You haven’t seen your father since you were eleven?”
“I didn’t want to. Even if I had, I didn’t know where he was.”
“What about your uncle?”
Muttering under his breath, he rubbed a hand across his face. “Why all the questions?”
“Guess what? This is what friends do. Talk about stuff. Even the hard stuff.”
“Yesterday you hated me. Now we’re friends?”
“I never hated you. I know what it feels like to hate someone, and this…” She waved her hand to indicate her heart, “…isn’t it. I don’t like what you want to do, but I understand that it’s your job. And I didn’t say we are friends. I said we could be something resembling friends.”
“Where does kissing fit into the definition of that?” His eyes gleamed.
A flush rose to Aria’s cheeks. “No changing the subject. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“No.” He leaned back against the headboard and folded his arms. “For a long time, it was just me and my uncle. He was a veteran. Unfortunately, he was addicted to painkillers from an old injury. No benefits because of the kind of discharge he received. Tough guy to live with.”
“Why?”
“He had a lot of mental health issues and couldn’t get the right treatment.” A frown carved brackets at the corners of his mouth. “He became an alcoholic and was often violent. The TV thing…I can’t stand the noise because he had it on all the time, full-blast. He died when I was seventeen. I was able to get legally emancipated since the courts couldn’t find my father.”
Though he spoke in a monotone, as if he were just relaying the facts, an undercurrent of roughness threaded his voice.
“Did your father ever contact you again?”
Hunter shook his head. “I didn’t care. I just focused on getting out of my basement apartment in that shit neighborhood and going to college. No way was I going to end up like my parents or uncle. I wanted a totally different life than the one I’d been living.
“I knew the only way I’d get it was by working hard. So after I got my MBA, I started climbing the corporate ladder. And that…” he reached out to tug on a lock of her hair, “…is how I ended up where I am today, Nosey. Aw, hell. Don’t look like that.”
“Sorry.” She looked down to hide her distress, trying to school her expression into one of composure. He neither wanted nor needed her sympathy.
“Come here.” Wrapping his arm around her, he hauled her across the bed to him.
Her breath caught. She hesitated for an instant, not certain if he really intended for her to settle against him, but he pulled her right up to his side. The light inside her burned brighter. She slipped her arm around his waist and rested her head on his chest. Her tension eased.
If she had any misgivings about the sheer strangeness of snuggling up to Hunter Armstrong, Imperial Properties VP, the thought dissolved into the warm strength of his body and the way he tightened his arm to pull her even closer.
Chapter 14
Sunlight hit Hunter’s closed eyelids. Reluctantly, he dragged himself from a tangle of hot, sweet dreams about a young woman whose body drove him crazy and whose heart seemed to have no boundaries. No closed spaces.
Sunlight?
Shoving to his elbow, he peered at the clock. Nine. When was the last time he’d slept past five? And why was he still wearing his shorts and T-shirt?
He turned. The space beside him was empty, but Aria’s summer tropical scent lingered in the air. A note resting on the pillow had a doodle of a smiling cat.
He let out his breath slowly. She’d been real.
Still. Nine?
Swinging his feet to the floor, he stalked to the bathroom. Must be the sea air. Something about this small town was throwing him off.
Or someone.
He’d told Aria things last night that he’d never told anyone. The realization should have shocked the hell out of him, but it didn’t. He hadn’t been acting like himself since he saw her standing outside his room at the inn.
But he hadn’t lost sight of his goal.
After splashing cold water on his face, he stared himself down in the mirror. His get to know your opponent strategy was either failing miserably or succeeding beyond what he’d ever thought possible. But not even in the coldest, most rational part of his brain could he convince himself that his deep attraction to Aria had anything to do with business.
It did, however, have everything to do with her. He’d known a lot of smart, driven women in his life, but he’d never known a woman whose fire came so intensely from her heart.
Though his instincts had rarely proven wrong, he should—technically—wonder if she was trying to play him. But he couldn’t even bring himself to consider the thought. Aria was stubborn, but she wasn’t manipulative.
She was too good for deception, too transparent for subterfuge. The way she’d looked at him after he’d told her about his past had almost broken his heart. He’d even had the unwelcome thought that he’d do anything to prevent that distress from shadowing her pretty eyes ever again.
Well. He clearly needed to start focusing on his job again.
He used the bathroom and took a quick shower. As he was taking clean clothes from his suitcase, a knock sounded.
Aria?
Without thinking, he strode to yank open the door. When he found himself face-to-face with Mrs. Higgins, he remembered he was only wearing boxer briefs.
The innkeeper’s eyes widened. She gaped and stared at his chest as if he were buck naked.
He attempted a smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Higgins.”
“Oh, Mr. Armstrong, I do apologize for interrupting you. I didn’t see you leave for your morning run earlier, so I thought you might still be here.”
“Yes, I…uh, overslept.”
“Well, that’s good. Sleep is so important. So is breakfast.” She indicated the food-laden tray she was holding. “But since you refuse to join us in the dining room, it appears I need to bring breakfast to you.”
“Thank you, but I—”
“I’ll just put it on the table.” With a cheerful smile, she entered the room. “Caramel cinnamon rolls, hot cocoa, stuffed French toast with boysenberry syrup, and a fruit bowl. Would you like anything else?”
“No, thank you. You’re very kind.”
“I like to keep my guests happy. Hank always said that our guests come first. He used to keep a spreadsheet of our regulars...you know, people who came to stay with us every year…and it would list all their likes and dislikes. If he knew a family liked a certain chocolate or candy, he’d have a supply of it waiting for them in their room.”
She gave a wistful little sigh.
“That was nice of him.” Hunter scratched his head. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready for work.”
“Of course. Leave the tray outside the door, and we’ll pick it up later.” She left the room, casting a quick glance downward as she passed him.
Hunter closed the door and thunked his head against it. Small towns were not for him. He needed the anonymity and distance only a city could offer. As soon as his work was done in Bliss Cove, he’d be back in Manhattan, immersed in a world of twenty-year-old scotch and six-million-square-foot developments.
No little old lady innkeepers bearing stuffed French toast and boysenberry syrup. No artichoke festivals or streets with secrets. No falling asleep with Aria’s soft body nestled against him as if she were made for—
Shutting off the direction of his thoughts, he finished getting dressed. As he was fastening on his watch, his phone buzzed with a call from Bruce Sinclair.
“How many commitments do you have so far?” the CEO asked. “I told you I want verbal agreements from all the association members before they go in for their vote.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“What about that girl who owns a café…what’s it called? Something to do with cats. Ariadne Prescott.”
Cold snaked down Hunter’s spine. “What about her?”
“She emailed saying she wasn’t going to sign. You change her mind yet?”
“I’m working on it.”
“That means you’re not getting it done,” his boss snapped.
“You want to come do this yourself?” Hunter gripped the phone tighter. “Not my first time locking down a deal. In case you forgot.”
Bruce barked out a laugh. “Yeah, I know. Just not the kind of procedure we’re accustomed to, you know? The investors are pumped about Oceanview, so I want to make sure nothing happens to fuck it up.”
Hunter ended the call, smothering his unease. He didn’t want Bruce knowing the first damned thing about Aria. He wasn’t accustomed to his boss interfering. Imperial Properties always went full-force when launching a buyout strategy—or any other plan—but Bruce always left Hunter alone to do his job.
So why was his boss checking up on him now, especially for a relatively small project? Bruce knew he’d get the job done, regardless of the procedure. Hunter smothered the urge to call Juliette and dig for more information.
Close the deal. Get the promotion.
Whatever else was going on, he’d handle it when he was in charge of all of Imperial’s West Coast properties.
He checked his laptop, which was open to the documents he was compiling about the Mariposa business owners. Over the past two weeks, he’d learned a lot about them simply by asking casual questions. Small-town folk were chatty by nature, and his presence as a property developer hadn’t stopped them from telling him their life stories.
He skimmed the pages, rereading everything he’d recorded about Nico Calozzi, the owner of the pizza restaurant whose father had started a restaurant in Sarconi, Italy, before immigrating to the States.
Nico’s pizza recipe, handed down from his grandmother, was a delicious, thick, chewy crust that he topped with only basic ingredients of sauce, cheese, and meat. People went to Nico’s for an authentic pizza, not one topped with arugula or salmon.
Hunter clicked on another document. Lois and Ray Howell had owned The Bloom Room for years. Without telling his wife, Ray had bought the shop before they were married. After the wedding, he’d brought her to the building and unveiled the Bloom Room sign as a present.
He’d told her she was his eternal flower and their love would never wither. “Not only did it not wither,” Lois had told Hunter, “it grows stronger and more beautiful every year.”
It was a nice story—cute, even—but Hunter wouldn’t let it soften his resolve.
The Howells were ready to retire, and Nico was amenable to the idea of reopening closer to the college. Gus and Martha Mortimer, the proprietors of the Vitaphone movie theater for forty years, were still on the fence. Annie, the owner of the thrift shop, wanted to get out of retail altogether so she could travel. Gary, who had inherited the Corner Store from his father, would consider opening closer to downtown.
Hunter closed the laptop, ignoring a pang from his conscience that he was making records of people’s stories.
Business. That’s all it is.
He never felt guilty about doing his job. He’d told Aria the truth that he didn’t play dirty. He also didn’t get emotion involved—leas
t of all guilt.
Taking his briefcase, he headed out to his car. The sun had already dissolved the gray marine layer covering the sky, and the downtown streets bustled with locals and tourists.
Much as he wanted to see Aria again, he put work first. He stopped at the town hall and spent the morning checking the revised Oceanview plans against the city codes and zoning ordinances.
Close to lunchtime, he drove to Mariposa, parked, and walked toward Meow and Then. The street had a few customers—two college-aged girls sat drinking coffee in the window of the Cat Lounge, an older couple was coming out of the Corner Store, and a mother was leading a little boy toward the beach.
“Not longing so much anymore, are you?” Destiny’s voice came from behind Hunter. “In fact, you seem rather satisfied at the moment.”
He turned. As usual, Destiny was standing in the doorway of her shop with a beverage, her black hair pulled into a knot on the top of her head, and her silver jewelry glittering.
“If you sign the contract, I’ll throw in some custom-made patio furniture for the front of your new store,” he offered.
She gave a throaty laugh. “Duly noted. You look good.”
“So do you, but rumor has it that not even flirting will get you to tell me the alleged Mariposa Street secret.”
“Secret?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Mariposa Street has a secret?”
“So I’ve heard.” Hunter glanced to where Nico was sweeping the front sidewalk of the pizza parlor. “Hey, Nico, what’s the Mariposa Street secret?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, boy.” Nico huffed and waved his hand dismissively.
“Guess you’re out of luck.” Destiny raked her approving gaze over Hunter’s jeans and T-shirt. “At least in terms of so-called Mariposa secrets. Based on your energy at the moment, you might have some secrets of your own.”
“Don’t we all?”
“I hope so.” She smiled. “Live in the light, honey.”
Though Hunter had no idea what that actually meant, he said, “You too.”
He crossed the street to Meow and Then. The two girls were coming down the porch steps, both of them carrying bags filled with cat-themed purchases.