by Day Leclaire
Sam Beaumont was back! Good golly, Miss Molly, what was she going to do? Because if “that wild Beaumont boy” as he’d been dubbed at the ripe age of four had returned to Delacorte Island, it could only be for one purpose. The hens had it half-right. He hadn’t returned to ruin her—at least, not the way they meant. Heck, anywhere else on earth, a tattered reputation wouldn’t cause so much as a puckered brow. But Sam had returned to get even with those who’d driven him from his home. And the one thing he’d most want to wreak revenge upon was her all-too-guilty head.
She increased her speed well past the posted limit, her hair flying behind her in a long, sunlit stream. Whipping through town, she passed Rosie Hinkle’s son, Bertie, who also happened to be the local deputy and her brother-in-law. He lifted his hand in greeting, a gesture she automatically returned. She didn’t even bother glancing in her side mirror to see if he intended to ticket her for speeding. He’d laugh himself silly at the mere suggestion. Just as Sam Beaumont could do no right, Annie Delacorte of Delacorte Island could do no wrong—no matter how hard she tried. Her chin wobbled precariously. If they only knew.
Turning down a dirt lane, she avoided potholes with practiced ease, as well as a king snake, an angry gray squirrel and a pair of courting doves. Roaring up to the doorway, she cut the engine and set the kickstand. Ripping off her helmet, she allowed it to drop to the sand as she ran up the worn planks leading to Aunt Myrtle’s porch. She should go in through the kitchen door. Everyone did. But today she was in too much of a hurry. Allowing a few mosquitoes and a bit of sand into the front foyer was less important than getting the latest news to Aunt Myrtle. Even so, she took a second to kick off her sandals and brush her feet before entering, scolded all the while for her impertinence by the Carolina wren nesting in a nearby flower basket.
“He’s back!” she shouted the instant the door banged shut behind her. “It’s all over town.” Pelting down the hallway, she careered off the wall and darted into the kitchen. “And guess what that silly woman Rosie Hinkle says he wants?”
“How about my old motorcycle for starters?”
Annie skidded to a halt. Dammit all. She should have anticipated this and hadn’t. “Dang.”
Instead of Aunt Myrtle, Sam Beaumont lounged at the table. “Interesting that my bike ended up in your possession.” He tilted his chair onto two legs. “Next time I get thrown off the island, I’m going to have to insist they toss my Harley off with me.”
“I’ll be sure to make a note of it,” she replied with more composure than common sense.
His eyes glittered a warning, a warning she’d be smart to heed. “You do that.”
A dainty cup of hot tea steamed in front of him, a semitransparent wheel of lemon floating on top. The sight of this feminine delicacy coupled with such blatant power should have looked incongruous. Instead, it only served to emphasize the sheer masculinity of the man.
He was dressed all in black—a T-shirt that clung to every sculpted muscle, black jeans that outlined lean, strong thighs and black boots. The color mirrored his pitch-colored Beaumont eyes and hair. Thick curls tumbled in careless abandon across his brow, emphasizing those wicked, wicked eyes. A descendant of pirates, he was perfectly suited to the role, particularly with the skull-and-crossbones earring he’d worn for more years than she could recall. Lord help her, but she’d missed him.
Annie glanced around uneasily. “Where’s Aunt Myrtle?”
“Upstairs, talking on the phone. About me, if I’m not mistaken.” His chair banged down onto all four legs and he slowly climbed to his feet. “Whatever are you doing here, Miss Delacorte? This is Beaumont land in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Didn’t Aunt Myrtle mention?” Annie asked as casually as she could manage. “I live here now.”
His eyes narrowed as he approached. “Since when?”
She shrugged, wishing she could avoid his compelling gaze but unable to. “Not long after you left. She needed a live-in companion and I wanted to leave the nest. It was a perfect match.”
He took a moment to digest the information. “I’m surprised old man Delacorte let you anywhere near a living, breathing Beaumont.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted, taking instant umbrage. “It wasn’t all Beaumonts Pops objected to.”
“Just me.” He allowed the dry observation to settle uncomfortably between them before asking, “You still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?”
He wasn’t going to let the subject drop, she realized apprehensively. That could be a problem. Once Sam latched onto something, he didn’t let go until physically forced to back off. Somehow she doubted there was anyone willing—or able—to force Sam to do anything he wasn’t already inclined to do. Not this time. “I told you. I live here now. As for Pops...I didn’t ask. I just did it.”
“Defied your father? You, Annie?” Sam shook his head in patent disbelief. “Hard to imagine, all things considered.”
Had she really been such a pushover? Perhaps that’s how most perceived her—as the good, dutiful daughter. Little did they know. “Well, believe it. Because it happened. I’m here and I’m staying put.”
To her relief, Sam lifted a shoulder in dismissal, apparently satisfied. “So what happened to your place?” he asked.
“Pansy and Bertie live there now. They married and moved in not long after Pops died.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “What about the beach house your grandmother gave you? I would have thought you’d want to live there instead of imposing on Myrtle.”
“I’m not imposing.” She drew a calming breath. “As for the beach house...I sold it.”
His frown deepened. For some reason, that tiny admission managed to annoy him more than anything else she’d said so far, though she couldn’t imagine why. “You sold it? Delacorte land? What the hell were you thinking?”
Annie planted her hands on her hips. “You know what? I don’t have to answer your questions. I don’t have to answer anybody’s questions. It was just a house and land and now it’s someone else’s house and land.”
“And after you sold out, you moved in with my aunt Myrtle?”
Sold out? Is that how he regarded her actions? She suppressed the momentary hurt. One of these days she’d have to toughen up and stop being so darned sensitive, particularly when it came to a certain dangerously attractive Beaumont. It was her land and she could do what she pleased. As for Aunt Myrtle... “She’s not your aunt Myrtle. She belongs to everybody,” Annie clarified. “She’s only a distant connection of yours. Very distant.” It seemed vital to stress that point.
He didn’t take kindly to the reminder. “Aunt Myrtle raised me from the time I was ten. I think that gives me prior claim.”
“Maybe it would, if you hadn’t left.”
“Left?” His bark of laughter was downright chilling. “I didn’t leave. I was thrown off the island, remember?”
It took every ounce of self-restraint not to turn tail and run. But if she’d learned one thing about dealing with Sam, it was to stand her ground and come out swinging. He’d taught her that the day he’d crashed her sixth birthday party. “I haven’t forgotten a thing.”
“Neither have I.” He snagged her around the waist and hauled her up against him. “Well, Annie? Aren’t you going to welcome me home?” .
She shoved at his shoulders, not that it did any good. He was as uncontrollable as a storm-driven breaker and twice as relentless. It left two options—to ride him out or to be swept along. “Aside from Aunt Myrtle, I’m probably the only one who will,” she informed him tartly.
“If that’s a welcome, it’s a mite lacking. I know you can do better.”
He didn’t wait for her to come up with any brilliant—let alone safe—ideas, like a handshake or impersonal hug. Instead, he took what he wanted. And what he wanted was a kiss that was the most passionate she’d ever experienced in all of her twenty-five years.
How could she have forgotten what his lips fel
t like? How they tasted? How with one hungry touch he overwhelmed every sense, particularly her common sense? At eighteen, she hadn’t stood a chance against his raw masculinity. She’d been shaken and confused by the deep well of desire he’d tapped with such ease, the unbearable hankering he’d stirred, yet never quite satisfied.
Now, she knew precisely what those feelings were...and where they’d lead. She also discovered something she’d been too innocent to realize before. It wasn’t one-sided. His arousal ran every bit as deep and strong as her own. He was just better at hiding it; better yet at hiding what drove his actions. While she found him impossible to resist, still cared for him on an emotional plane as well as a physical one, he remained unreadable. He was as closed to her today as he’d been all those years ago.
Eventually, she’d have to confront him, find out what he really wanted from her. But right now she didn’t care. His mouth fitted so deliciously over hers, the taste as intoxicating as wild berries, sun ripened to juicy perfection. He cupped her face, his thumbs massaging the tense muscles of her jaw. She relaxed, no doubt as he’d intended, her lips parting to allow him entry. Dear heaven, but he was good at this. Gentle yet firm, a fierce passion bridled by unmistakable tenderness. Dusty memories were replaced with bittersweet reality, half-forgotten dreams resurrected with each thrust and nip, reminding her with heartbreaking deliberation of all she’d given up when she drove him away.
She could lose herself in this man. Lose her sanity, her self-restraint and her reputation as a “good” girl. She’d wanted to taint her image a little. No doubt Sam would be happy to oblige. Not that she’d allow that to happen. There was too much at stake, too many people who’d be hurt if she gave in to the one thing she craved most in all the world. Fighting for strength, she wriggled from his arms. To her surprise, not to mention a wee bit of disappointment, he let her go without a struggle.
They stared at each other across the width of the kitchen. To Annie’s relief, she wasn’t the only one fighting for breath. It would have been too galling if she was, especially since he’d managed to imprint himself on every one of her senses. His taste was stamped on her mouth and his scent filled her lungs. Even the power of his arms was a lingering warmth on her back. He’d always been like that—a force to be reckoned with, creating as strong an impact as the hurricanes that periodically battered their small island.
Finally gathering her wits, she shot off the first volley. “Not only do you look like a damned pirate, you act like one, too.”
Acknowledging her swift recovery, he saluted her with a grin. “A schoolteacher shouldn’t use language like that.”
“You always did bring out the worst in me,” she complained.
“Really? That’s not how I see it.” His black eyes held a knowing gleam that caused warmth to blossom in her cheeks. “I’d say I brought out the best you had to offer. I wonder how everyone would react if they knew you’d given me such an enthusiastic welcome?”
“Tell them! Tell every last one of them.” She folded her arms across her chest. “They wouldn’t believe you, more’s the pity.” Perhaps if she’d had a reputation like Sam’s mother, they’d have believed the worst. Poor woman.
His expression turned grim. “No, they wouldn’t.”
Since his humor had faded, this might be a good time to address some of the stickier issues remaining between them. She took a deep breath, praying for strength. This was going to hurt. “So why did you come back, Sam?”
“I thought you already knew the answer to that.”
“I know what everyone’s saying.” She forced herself to hold his gaze, to absorb the impact of those Beaumont eyes. “Now I’d like to hear it from you.”
The change in him was instantaneous. Gone was the lazily amused man she’d loved so long ago. And in his place stood a hardened stranger. “And what precisely have you been told?”
“Oh, gosh. The list is endless. Let’s see....” She ticked off on her fingers. “You’ve come to pick up the motorcycle you left behind. You’re on the island to cause trouble. You’re here to get revenge by ruining me. You’re visiting old friends and checking up on your property. You know.” She tried for a nonchalant shrug. “The usual sort of stuff most people who’ve been away for a spell come back to do.”
For a moment, she thought she’d successfully slipped her ruination past him. She should have known better. One black brow hitched upward. “Wait a sec. What was that middle one?”
She widened her eyes and tried for an innocent expression. “Which one? Visiting old friends?”
He gave her a look of dry amusement. “No, not that one.”
“Umm...” She scuffed her sandy toe against the linoleum. It was a big mistake. The childhood habit had always given her away the few times she’d tried to varnish the truth. And Sam knew it, dam him. “You’re here to cause trouble?”
Amusement still flickered in his gaze. “Not that, either.”
“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Maybe it was the ‘you’re here to get revenge by ruining me’ one.”
“Bingo.”
She made a dismissive gesture. “You know how crazy gossip can get. It’s not like anyone actually believes it or anything.”
“Ruining you.” To her dismay, he seemed to savor the words. “How Victorian. Now where in the world did that come from?”
“Rosie Hinkle got it direct from Bertie. And Bertie got it straight from Sheriff Rolly.”
“Right from the horse’s mouth, huh? And here I always thought he resembled the other end.”
“Have you come back to ruin me?” she couldn’t help asking. Good grief! She sounded almost hopeful. “Is that why you’re here?”
“What do you think?”
To be honest, she hadn’t had time to think. Thirty short minutes ago, Sam had been a distant memory, one she’d only savored in the quiet solitude of sleepless nights, when her resistance had been low and the hurt running high. “I think it’s been seven years since our...relationship ended—”
“Damn, but you’ve gotten good at whitewashing history,” he marveled.
“And that’s given you ample opportunity to get over the slight to your pride. Now that you’ve made your mark in the financial community—what did they call you? The Beaumont Bull?”
“You’re ducking the issue.”
“I’m sure you’ve come to check up on—” she waved her hand airily “—things.”
“Good try. But wrong.”
If she’d been one of her students, she’d have stamped her foot. “Dam it, Sam! Why are you really here? Why now?”
“I’ve come home to take care of unfinished business.
What’s so strange about that?”
Unfinished business? Aside from getting even with her and the men who’d chased him off, there was only one other piece of unfinished business he’d need to take care of. Understanding hit like a force five hurricane. “Oh, no,” she said with all the ferocity of a lioness protecting her cub. “You can’t have her. She’s mine now.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Aunt Myrtle. You left her behind and that gives me squatter’s rights. You can’t just sweep into town and take her away from me.” His eyes narrowed as he analyzed her declaration. Apparently, her vehemence had given her away. When would she learn? She’d have to be more careful around Sam.
“I’m not planning on taking Myrtle anywhere,” he replied mildly enough. “Although I’d be happy to take her off your hands any time you want.”
“No! You left and I’m keeping her.”
“Left?”
Oops. She stumbled back as he started toward her.
“You know what I mean.”
“Oh, I know.” His tone bit deep, resonating with years of remembered anger and hostility. “I know you said you loved me. I know you promised to leave the island or your eighteenth birthday and marry me. And I also know what happened next, on what should have been my wed ding day.”
; Every word he uttered was sheer agony. “Don’t Sam—”
“What’s the matter, Annie? Is this too much for you delicate Delacorte ears? Tough. I was the one stuck living through what you set in motion.”
“I never meant—”
He cut her off with an abrupt gesture. “Never mean what? For the town’s leading citizens to line up on my doorstep with half a dozen shotguns ready to blast chunk out of my hide? Well, relax. They rethought that plan once I explained my objections.”
It took a moment for her to grasp what he meant. “You fought them? Men with shotguns?”
“I stated my objections,” he repeated dryly. “In a physical a manner as they’d allow. It was enough to con vince them to back off. Instead of shooting me, they sim ply tied me up, tossed me into the bed of a pickup and drove for the ferry docks.” A taut muscle spasmed along his jawline. “Too bad you missed it, sweetheart. If you’ come along for the party, you could have watched then dump me there like so much garbage.”
“I’m sorry, Sam—”
“Sorry?” The word slipped softly between them, rum bling with the turbulence of emotions too painful to openly acknowledge. “That’s it? ‘Sorry, Sam. I changed my mind and was too much of a coward to tell you?’”
“Yes.” He ripped a chair from his path and she flinched. “I was a coward. Okay? Is that what you wan to hear?”
“It’s a start. But let’s see what other confessions I can pry loose.” His unrelenting approach backed her toward the counter. “What else is there, Annie? You were such a coward you sent a posse after me instead of confronting me directly. Now why is that? Were you afraid of me?”
“No!” Not Sam. Never Sam. “I was young and foolish and hoped to avoid an argument. Satisfied?”
“Not even close.” He stopped inches away, so near the shadow of his beard filled her gaze while the harsh intake of his breath resonated in her ears. “And because you couldn’t face an argument, you routed Ben Drake, Rolly and Mayor Pike from their beds to handle the situation. You sent a posse to do the talking for you. Is that how it went down?”