by Lindsey Hart
“I- uh- no.”
Hettie laughed. She sounded a little like a cackling crone, but it was oddly charming on the squat, gnarled little white-haired woman. “Good lord, Maren, can’t you see that it could be anything and he would eat it if you suggested it?”
Owen’s body heated at Hettie’s astute observation. Maren’s cheeks reddened to the point where the color nearly matched the shade of her hair. She didn’t move or remark on Hettie’s comment, just paid for the jam and handed it over.
“It’s blueberry,” she said under her breath. “Wild blueberry. Not at all like what you find in the store. It’s my favorite.”
“Well then, I might just take your word for it.” He winked at her and at Hettie, who turned away, twittering happily to herself. She wondered on up ahead, leaving them to trail after her.
“Hettie’s alright,” Maren whispered. “She’s usually on her best behavior. I think she gets a kick out of giving you a hard time.”
“I can see that.”
“She really is a saint. I don’t know, there’s not a lot to keep her occupied here. She gardens mostly. Helps me out, has me or her friends over for tea.”
Hettie’s life sounded just about like heaven. He envied the old woman in a way, the simplicity of her days, or at least the way Maren described them. He didn’t doubt she was lonely though, as he himself was. It didn’t give him a start to realize it. He’d known for a long time that he wasn’t happy, even with Chelsea. His company used to give him so much pleasure. That had changed the day he nearly drowned. He’d started to live for other reasons, to rethink everything he thought he had mapped out. It was one of the reasons he’d married Chelsea, because he no longer viewed the single life as one worth living.
What he envied most, he realized, was the fact that Hettie was so close to Maren. She knew Maren’s secrets. They talked, openly and freely, with no restraint or awkwardness between them. They gardened together, probably shared recipes. He wasn’t even a fan of tea, but he knew if Maren asked him to sit with her three times a day and have a cup, he wouldn’t hesitate.
“Sounds like a nice time,” he said when he realized Maren was looking at him, waiting for his response. He glanced over at a booth that was selling jewelry. Impulsively he stepped forward. It was handmade, though it looked like the creator had upcycled the pieces out of old antique jewelry, costume stuff mostly. Maren came up beside him, brow arched in question. “Do you like any of this?” he asked.
“Uh…” He could tell she didn’t want to offend the artist, a middle-aged woman with grey hair twisted into a tasteful knot at the top of her head. Grey tendrils framed a face that was still angular and pretty even though she was likely going on sixty. “Yes. I like that one.” She pointed to a strand of pearls with a tiny gold shell. He liked the gold veins that traveled up the sides, the little scallops at the top. It was dainty and pretty, perfectly suited to Maren.
“Great. We’ll take that one.” Owen reached into his pocket while the woman bagged up the necklace in a small paper bag. He paid and was sure to tip the woman, which she didn’t know how to respond to. She became instantly flustered but thanked him all the same.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Maren said softly as she took the bag he handed over. She had a leather messenger bag sitting at her hip. She lifted the flap of the soft, brown leather and slid the bag inside. “I really do like it though.”
Her soft blush and the gentle glow in his eyes tied his insides in knots. There was no denying what her soft smile did to him. He realized, for the first time, that she had a dimple on her right cheek.
“Don’t worry. It’s my treat. You’re the perfect host. You bought baking and fresh coffee beans and all sorts of things that other bed and breakfasts wouldn’t provide.”
“That’s my job,” Maren laughed. He loved the sound of her laugh. She was walking so very close her hand at her side, the other pulling the cart behind her. He could have reached out and slid his fingers through hers, but he didn’t. As it was, they nearly brushed when they walked. He would have given nearly everything he owned to touch her skin, to learn the smooth velvet of her palm. Thinking of touching her made his mind spiral back out of control and he carefully had to bring himself back in check.
What the hell is wrong with me? Ever since he’d seen Maren at the beach, he’d thought of nothing but her body. How could he not? She was glorious, the play of silvery moonlight on her hair, her breasts, her sweet, creamy skin. God… Owen ground his molars together.
Maren, blissfully oblivious at his side, veered off to visit a booth with fresh produce. He watched her, her long red hair falling nearly to her waist, the gleam of the sun overhead turning it into a blazing coppery red. His hand itched again, this time to run it through those gleaming strands, to learn the weight of it, the softness.
He nearly let his mind wander again, his body reacting, firing on painfully aware cylinders, until he turned and caught Hettie staring at him out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t look away like some people might have. Instead, she gave a small smile that could have been encouragement. He started, expecting her to defend Maren when she realized he was looking at her sort of granddaughter with less than honest intentions. Instead of berating him, Hettie just kept on smiling knowingly and walked slowly to the stall where Maren was picking out peaches.
CHAPTER 8
Maren
The inky black water drenched in silvery moonlight on the surface was like a caress. Maren cut through the waters, each stroke taking her further from the beach. It had been a warm day and she loved nothing better than cooling off in the salty waters, easing her tired muscles. To her, swimming wasn’t work. It was an escape. The water was where she came out to lose herself. She came out there to find the answers to her problems or just to forget. It never failed to soothe her, renew her, refresh and recharge her in ways she just couldn’t find anywhere else.
She swam and swam, going out as deep as she dared, where the suction of the undertow was strong and she had to work to tread water. She thought perhaps if she swam far enough, she could get her guest off her mind, but Owen remained with her. His striking, angular features, dark hair and sea blue eyes stayed in her mind, haunting her the way they had since that day on the beach. The very beach she’d just left behind, almost in the exact spot she was swimming.
This is crazy. She couldn’t say why she’d never been able to shake him. Like a ghost, he remained. Always with her. It was worse now, that he was back. She felt him watching her sometimes when he thought she didn’t notice. His gaze was hot on her body and it did things to her. She had no business feeling any sort of attraction, but her body burned whenever Owen was near and she couldn’t stop it. His mere presence turned her blood to fire.
Because she was so attuned to her environment, because she’d spent her entire life in the waters, she sensed, before she even saw him, that she wasn’t alone.
Maren whirled in the water, her movements silent and graceful. There was hardly even a splash as she turned back towards the beach.
She was far enough out that she knew she was safe, but not far enough out that she couldn’t see Owen or the glistening fire in his gaze. Despite the chill of the deep waters, she felt the scorching blast of heat as his eyes landed on her.
Don’t panic. He can’t see anything more than my head. She hadn’t expected to be interrupted on her swim. In all the years she’d been swimming out there, no one had ever walked up to the beach or come out of their house. She had a long strip of her own part of the beach that backed the bed and breakfast, far enough away from the neighbors that there was no one to spot her out there in the water. It was also the middle of the night, just past two in the morning. Hettie bordered her house to the right and the other neighbor, a woman named Iris who wasn’t altogether friendly, was in her eighties and wouldn’t be up at that hour and certainly not outside or looking out her windows.
Maren had been lulled into a sense of security over the years. Seei
ng Owen standing on the beach, wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans, she felt a little like her personal, private, sacred part of the world was being intruded on.
She was also extremely aware of the fact that she was naked and that if he was standing on the beach, he knew she was out there. How long has he been watching? Did he watch me undress and get in the water?
Surprisingly the thought didn’t anger her. Another hot rush of heat swept over her and she couldn’t miss the tingling sensation in her thighs, the clenching of desire in the pit of her stomach. She’d never felt the kind of body rush that Owen gave her. Never. Not once, though she’d dated a few guys casually. She hadn’t felt anything close to the rush of raw need that swept over her.
She stayed, treading water and Owen stayed on the beach, watching. They remained that way for a few long moments, how many, she couldn’t be sure.
Maren never grew tired. She debated about slipping out further, into even deeper water, but she was afraid he would do something foolish like try and swim out to her. She didn’t want to have a repeat experience of what happened five years ago. One man just about drowning in her stretch of water was enough for a lifetime.
He’s not going to come in. He’s just watching. I’m safe out here.
She could call to him, tell him to leave so she could get out, but she didn’t. She stayed, treading water, just her head visible above the shimmering depths. Unfortunately, the moon was full. It had captivated and enthralled her, called to her, beckoned her for a swim and she couldn’t refuse. Now it illuminated everything, as bright as the early morning grey light that filled the sky just before the sun rose.
She’d asked him if he’d ever go for a swim there again and he’d said only knee deep. She was a little taken aback when she saw him reach his arms over his head and strip off his t-shirt. His bronzed chest, hard, muscular, rippling broad shoulders, rigid muscles and narrow waist, gleamed in the moonlight. He was a man who took care of himself. Who obviously worked out. As he stripped away his jeans, kicked them off into the sand, he was also the most naked man she’d seen in a very long time.
He kept on tight-fitting black boxers, saving her from extreme immodesty. God, she almost wished he’d take them off so that she could look at him, admire the hard planes and rigid, stone-like chiseled muscles that were so very masculine, so very different than her own body. She was lean from working hard and fit from her long swims, but her own muscles would never look like that.
Under the water, her body ached and throbbed. She sucked in a breath as Owen waded into the water, past his knees, past his waist. He swam after that, heading out to her.
She knew already that he wasn’t a good swimmer, so she forced herself to head towards him, towards a spot where the undertow and current weren’t strong, where they could still touch bottom if they needed to.
Her head floated above the water, but she felt like she was a million miles above, in the sky, staring down at herself. Excitement hummed through her veins and electricity buzzed through her blood as Owen neared, his long strokes, slightly sloppy and not at all smooth, brought him closer to her.
She paused, treading water once again, a little deeper than she knew she should be. She didn’t know whether to feel fear or anticipation. Her head throbbed, her chest felt tight, as though she was out of oxygen when she knew she wasn’t. Her pulse beat hard, pounding violently at the side of her neck.
I want him. I want him out here, invading my world. I want him close to me, his skin meeting mine, his scent on me, our limbs twined together. Her face heated at the image. It wasn’t the first time she’d thought it. She’d dreamed of him and it hadn’t always been the most chaste imaginings. Sometimes she woke, achy and sweating.
Owen was there, a few feet away. He stopped just short of the deeper water and when he reached down, feeling for the bottom, she knew it would be there before his feet hit. He braced himself against the bottom and stood, breathing heavily, dragging in large gulps of oxygen into his lungs. The water lapped at his shoulders, sometimes hitting his jaw, leaving little crystal-like droplets that glowed and glistened.
His blue eyes sparkled in a way that was otherworldly. The moonlight turned them iridescent and when he looked at Maren, water droplets starring his thick dark eyelashes, it was like he was seeing right through her, seeing into the deepest parts of herself.
“Are you afraid?” Maren asked, seeing the spark of uncertainty in his eyes.
He nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“Don’t come closer then. You’re safe there.”
His gaze wavered, fell to her mouth and her lips heated up, buzzing as though he’d touched her, or god, kissed her. “I have a feeling I’m always safe with you.”
She didn’t know what he meant, but excitement flooded her body, anticipation of what was to come. He was so close he could have reached out to touch her. She’d never been more aware of her own skin, of her body, of her own elemental need. She’d never felt more like a woman that she did under Owen’s gaze, a delicate caress that never actually touched her.
She wasn’t even aware that she moved, but she did, because suddenly her feet were dragging against the sandy bottom and Owen’s hand was on her arm, his warmth cutting right through her. He pulled her close and she let him, floating effortlessly, weightlessly through the water that swirled around them both.
He buried his hand in her sodden hair at the same time she raised her face. He lowered his and then his lips were on hers, warm, crushing, bruising. He was demanding as he plundered her mouth. She tasted the tang of salt from the water, the sweet masculinity of him. Her body came alive, a fire like she’d never known sweeping over her. This time she felt like she was the one drowning.
Owen’s arms came around her and she fitted herself to his body, her breasts slamming into the wall of his chest, her aching nipples rasping against the smattering of wiry dark hairs. She wrapped her legs around his hips, drawing their bodies even closer, soaking in his heat, letting the flames of desire lick up her water chilled skin.
Her hands fisted at his shoulders, her nails biting into the flawless dark skin, the striated muscle below. She felt the hardness of him, straining through the thin cotton of his underwear and even though the water still covered her entire body, she felt the hot rush of wetness pool between her thighs as her body throbbed with wild need.
He sucked at her mouth, sipped at her lips, tasted her with his tongue. It was magical, it was everything she’d ever imagined it would be, everything she’d spent the past five years thinking about. She whimpered as his tongue stroked hers and he swallowed the sound.
A noise in the distance, the slamming of a car door or maybe even a window or someone’s screen door flapping in the gentle wind, broke them apart.
Owen ripped his mouth from hers at the same time she pulled away. They both gasped for breath, their shoulders heaving.
“We should get out,” she whispered. “What if someone sees us?”
His eyes flicked to her face and the look there, the raw need as wild and deep as her own, told her that he didn’t care if the entire world saw them.
She did, however. Her business might not be booming, but it was all she had. That and her reputation. People knew her. People knew who he was. Her best friend’s ex-husband. She didn’t need all of Monterey in her business.
“Will you go first? Go up to the house and wait for me. I’ll come shortly.”
He paused like he almost didn’t believe she’d actually come. He finally nodded. She watched him turn around and swim up to the beach. He got out of the water, dripping and glorious, even more beautiful than when he’d first got in.
She imagined him upstairs in the room he was staying in, imagined the bed, the sheets she’d made up herself just the morning before. Imagined them beneath her skin, his body on top of hers, her lips tasting the mixture of salty water and his own unique masculine aura.
She shivered violently. Waiting was the hardest thing she’d ever done.
When Owen was finally gone, and she knew she was alone, she swam back to shore, picked up her cotton dress, shrugged it on over damp skin and left the safety of the waters for a world that was suddenly brand new and uncertain and achingly tender.
She was afraid, not of giving herself to him, but that if she did, he would know. That he would just know the secret she hadn’t admitted to anyone. That since that day five years ago, that even if it was wrong, she’d been hopelessly in love with him.
CHAPTER 9
Owen
Even after a cold shower to wash off the salt water from his swim, he still burned with frustration. He couldn’t stop seeing Maren, the moonlight silhouetting her body, the glow of alabaster skin, the fiery red long hair, the sure, swift strokes of her slicing through the inky waters. He imagined her emerging from the water, droplets sluicing over pert nipples, delicate curves, a flat stomach.
Electric awareness buzzed through his veins. He felt a little like madness was creeping in on the edges and he was powerless to do anything to stop it. He imagined the taste of her in his mouth, that kiss, her body next to his… he wanted her more than anything. He’d never felt that way about anyone in his life. Not this level of need, not with the deep, desperate want he might not even survive. It shocked and scared him. He’d told himself after he’d been burned he wouldn’t do this again. Ever.
Just when he thought she wasn’t coming, that she’d changed her mind, he heard the soft padding of bare feet in the hall. A second later the door pushed open gently and golden light spilled in. It mingled with the silver beams of moonlight that seeped through the gauzy white curtains swaying in the gentle breeze.