Her Hottest Summer Yet

by Ally Blake

  “That’s not the only way you’re going to help, either,” she said, running a hand over his pecs, his beautiful brown skin rippling under her palm.

  “Who said I was going to help at all?”

  “I did. You are buying tickets for the entire Charter North office. And I’ve already messaged Tim a list of the boating decor you’ll be loaning us for the evening.”

  The sexy touching stopped as he moved to glare into her eyes. She wondered how she’d ever found that look infuriating. It was seriously hot. “You sidestepped me to go through Tim?”

  “He’s nicer than you are. He doesn’t argue. He compliments me on my shoes. I think he likes me more than you do too.”

  “Not possible,” he said without thinking, and the bittersweet bloom of feelings inside her ratcheted up to cyclonic levels. “He’s gay, you know. Tim. Has a boyfriend. Going on three years now.”

  “Fabulous. Buy the boyfriend a ticket too.”

  At that Jonah laughed—finally!—the glare easing to a gleam. Then, by way of an answer, he kissed the corner of her mouth, then the other one, with a gentleness that the gleam in his eyes concealed. Grouchy Jonah was hot, but gentle Jonah, the one who snuck up on her at the least expected moments, was the one who could tear her apart.

  She’d miss him when she left—more than it bore thinking about—but she’d never regret leaping into the wild wonderful world of Jonah North. And that, she decided in a brilliant epiphany, was the key. It wasn’t the looming sense of loss that would define life after this summer, but how she dealt with it. She would not feel sorry for herself. She would not harp on it. And life would go on.

  She pulled back to trace the bump on his nose, the ridge of his cheekbone, the crinkles at the edge of an eye. His skin was so hot, so real.

  Jonah’s eyebrow raised in question.

  Since she knew the surest way to have him leaping from the hammock and running for his life was to give him any indication what was going through her head, she scored her hands through his hair, his glorious dark curls, and drew his mouth back to hers. And with the ocean clawing its way onto the beach below, the sun baking the earth around them, she kissed him till she felt nothing but him. But this. All this.

  For now...

  * * *

  Later that evening, curled up in a big round cane chair on Jonah’s back porch, Avery found herself thinking more and more about home. Wondering if the best thing to do would be to book her flight back so that it was done.

  Instead—as if that were the lesser of two evils—she Skyped her mother. She’d been avoiding it all week. Ever since she and Claude had started organising the party, in fact. Because it would come up. And then so would the other party. And distraction and avoidance had worked brilliantly so far, so why mess with it?

  By the time her mother answered—her neat ash-blonde bob and perfectly made-up face flitting onto the screen—Avery’s throat was so tight she wondered if she’d get a word out at all.

  Lucky her mother was on song. “Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?”

  Avery glanced at the small version of herself in the bottom of the screen, and realised for the first time since she’d arrived it hadn’t occurred to her to dress up for the call. She had shaggy beach hair, freckles on her nose, wore a bikini and nothing else.

  But that wasn’t why she couldn’t drag her eyes away from her own image. Her mouth was soft. Her shoulders relaxed. Her eyes content. Somehow in the past few weeks she’d shed her air of quiet desperation and she looked...happy.

  The tapping away of a computer keyboard in the office behind the open window farther down the porch brought her back to the present.

  Blinking, she dragged her gaze back to the main screen. “You hate the tan, right?”

  Caroline Shaw—she’d kept her ex-husband’s name—rolled her eyes, careful not to wrinkle. “So long as you’re using sunscreen. And moisturiser. And toner. And—”

  “I’m having a fabulous time, thanks for asking.”

  When her mother smiled at the hit, Avery went on to fill her in on the happenings around the cove—about Claude, and Isis and Cyrus, and Hull and his lady friend. Not about the party, though. Or the man taking up most of her time.

  “What about that man?” her mother asked, glancing away to grab a china cup hopefully filled with tea as Avery jumped.

  It took everything in her power now to glance towards the glow of Jonah’s window as she asked, “What man?”

  “The hotelier. We came to know his parents all those years ago.”

  “The... Luke?”

  “Mmm. I Googled him when you brought him up at one time. Handsome fellow. Eminently eligible. Divorced,” she said with the usual hiss that implied, “but redeemable, one might hope. You haven’t mentioned him in a while so I wondered, if perhaps...”

  Avery had forgotten that her mother was like a human tuning fork, trembling in aggravation any time she thought her only daughter might be cast aside by some evil man as she herself had once been.

  It would have been easy to pretend, just as it had been easier to walk away from every romantic relationship than to think about why that was. But, for the first time in recallable history, she said to her mother: “No. I’m actually seeing someone else.”

  Her mother paused with the teacup halfway to her mouth. “And who is this lucky young man?”

  Avery’s heart beat hard as she watched her mother’s every facial movement for signs of a meltdown. “His name is Jonah. He’s a local. We met in the ocean. Hull—the dog with the lady-friend—is his.”

  Good grief. Could she have offered a less interesting version of the man? But this was a watershed moment and she was doing her best.

  “As handsome as the other one?” her mother asked gently as if she knew that Avery was struggling not to gush.

  “More.”

  Her mother smiled softly, sadly, and Avery suddenly wished she hadn’t said anything at all. Dealing with her mother as she raged at the world was one thing, seeing her wistful was like a knife to the heart.

  Avery heard the shower start up, meaning Jonah was done with whatever he’d been working on in his office and was getting ready for bed. This handsome man she was seeing. Hearing it inside her head she saw how vanilla that sounded, how weak a description for what had happened to her this summer.

  And she felt with a sharp keening deep inside her how little of that summer was left.

  She feigned a yawn.

  Her mother attempted to raise an eyebrow, which, considering the years of Botox, was a near impossibility. “Sleepy, darling? You’d be heading out now if you were back here.”

  The idea of heading out paled into insignificance compared with what was awaiting her by staying in. “Life’s different here. It’s slower. Gentler. It revolves around the sun. It’s...” This time she couldn’t stop herself glancing towards the window down the way, the light spilling out onto the rough wood and mixing with the unimpeded moonlight. “It’s curative.”

  When Avery looked back at her mother’s image on the screen, it was to find her mouth open, her forehead pinched, as if she was about say something; something Avery wouldn’t like. Avery’s stomach clenched. Please, she begged silently, not sure what she was pleading for. Time? Understanding? Amnesty? Release...?

  Then her mother said, “Love you, baby girl. Take care. Come home soon.” And signed off.

  Avery breathed out hard.

  She put Jonah’s tablet on the kitchen bench inside and padded into his bedroom to find his en-suite shower—hot the way he liked it, filling both rooms with steam. And the man himself stripping bare.

  Her eyes trailed his beautiful form, the movement of muscles across his back, the perfect pale backside between the deep golden-brown of his back and his thighs, like a hint of sweetness amids
t all that raw testosterone.

  She went to him and ran a hand over each cheek, kissing her way across his shoulder blades, grinning against him as his muscles clenched deliciously at her touch.

  “You all done out there?” he asked, turning, his scrunched up T-shirt warm and soft between them.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she said, trailing fingers over the bumps of his biceps.

  “All good?” he asked, his voice tight.

  She glanced up to find his eyes were dark. His energy reined in. She couldn’t wait for the moment it wasn’t.

  “As good as can be expected. My mother did wonder one thing...”

  “What’s that?”

  “She wondered why I wasn’t planning on going out.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “We’re close, but we’re not that close.” With that she lifted onto her toes, sank her hands into his hair, and kissed him, melting from the outside in when he dropped the T-shirt and held her, his naked heat against her bikini-clad skin.

  Lifting her lanky self into his arms as if she weighed nothing at all, he walked her into the bathroom, and dumped her in the shower, her head right under the hot spray. Laughing, she pushed her hair out of her eyes and grinned up at him. The grin fading to a sigh, when she caught the heat in his eyes.

  Curative, she thought as he enfolded her in his strong arms, and kissed her till she saw stars. Making her wonder just what Jonah North might be curing her of.

  TEN

  Avery never did get the chance to book that plane ticket home as the next week and a half of her life was consumed by the organising of The Party.

  Claude had picked the theme—Beyond the Sea. Leaving room for exactly the kind of kitsch fun of the Tropicana Nights she had in mind along with a hefty dose of glamour, elegance, and old-world nostalgia, Avery Shaw style.

  Dean Martin crooned smoothly beneath the sounds of laughter and chatter of the guests. Champagne, locally brewed beer, and pineapple punch flowed, served by a cute-as-a-button mermaid and a total hottie merman. Frangipani flowers and silver tea lights floated in the pool and above it all hung a web of lobster nets from which glinted strings of pure white fairy lights.

  Jonah—by way of Tim the office manager—had donated the nets, life-preservers for the wait staff, and life rings for decorations, and the dozen vintage rum barrels currently serving as occasional tables. But the yacht? That was pure Jonah. A gorgeous black and silver thing reposing with lazy elegance on stumps in one corner of the pool deck, it had arrived at the resort the day before, complete with a crane to put it into place. There’d been no word as to where it had come from, just a note: “Raffle it. Knock ’em dead, kiddo.” From the raffle tickets alone Claude had already made enough money to keep the resort afloat for a month.

  Claudia leaned her head on Avery’s shoulder as they took a rare breather from hostess duties. “I couldn’t afford to throw a beach ball much less a party, but look at this.”

  Avery lifted her beer bottle in salute. “And this is only the beginning. Once the travel bloggers start trickling in for their free stays word will really get out that you offer something really special here, Claude. And people will come.”

  “I don’t know how I can do all that without you, Avery.”

  Avery held her hand. Hard.

  She’d always thought her attraction to PR was a natural extension of all those years playing Pollyanna with her mom and dad. But standing there with her best friend in the whole world, seeing their efforts about to come to fruition, felt pretty different from... What had she said to Jonah? Taking not naturally pleasant products and talking them up till they smelled like roses.

  Avery drew Claude’s arm close. “Go mingle. Thank. Drum up clients. A hotelier’s work is never done.”

  Claudia pulled herself up straight, and went to do just that.

  Which was when Avery felt a hand land on her lower back. She knew instantly it didn’t belong to Jonah—no spark, no warmth, no drizzle of sensation that hit the backs of her knees and stayed even after his touch was gone.

  She spun to find Luke—clean-shaven, neat as a pin, resplendent in his slick suit.

  “Luke!” She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Wow. No tie. It must be a party. Does Claude know you’re here? She’ll be thrilled you made it back in time to see her glory unfold.”

  “Sure about that?”

  “Absolutely. And this is only a taste of the kinds of ideas she has going forward. So you need to cut our girl some slack or you’ll have me to deal with. Don’t even think I’m kidding. I’m a New Yorker, remember. I know people.”

  Luke tapped the side of his nose. “I’ll take it into consideration. Where is she?”

  “She was heading to... Oh.”

  Avery caught sight of Claudia’s wispy blonde ponytail. She was dancing with a dark-haired, dark-eyed, snake-hipped man who held her very, very close. It could only be Raoul.

  Avery turned to Luke to point her out. By the look in Luke’s eyes she didn’t need to.

  Tunnel vision down to an art form, Luke said, “Nice to see you, Avery,” then made a beeline for his business partner.

  Avery made to follow, to play intermediary, till she felt a pair of hands encircle her waist from behind, and this time there was no doubting who they belonged to. She leant into Jonah’s warmth, sighing all over as she sank into his touch.

  “How’s Luke?” he asked in that deep, sexy, sexy voice of his.

  “Had you worried there, did I?”

  “Not for a New York second.”

  “A New York second, eh? You do know that’s like a tenth the length of a Crescent Cove second.”

  “You’re really going there?” His tone was joking, but the dark thread wavering beneath it curled itself around Avery’s heart and pulled tight. But the thing was, the time was coming when she would be going there. They couldn’t avoid it forever.

  Beer, adrenalin, and the fact that she wasn’t looking into his eyes gave her the guts to say, “Afraid you’ll miss me so desperately when I go?”

  He sank a kiss into her hair, his lips staying put. “No point. Without me around the moment you get home you’ll fall down a sewer hole and never be seen again. And then I’ll have to console Claudia. She’ll insist we build a memorial. And I’m a busy man, don’t you know?”

  She knew. And she also knew how much time he’d carved out for her these past few weeks. The late starts, the early afternoons, the long delicious nights. Avery’s stomach clenched so hard she put a hand on her belly. Jonah’s hand landed quietly over the top. And there they stayed a few minutes, simply soaking in one another’s warmth.

  Then Jonah’s chin landed on her shoulder, his breath brushing her ear. “Ms Shaw, are you actually drinking a beer?”

  Avery lifted the bottle to her mouth and took a swig. Jonah growled in appreciation.

  “I’d have thought you’d like women with a bit of tomboy in them. Women who can hoist a rigging. And swing an anchor. And lift a... No. I’m done.”

  There was a beat, like a moment lost in time, before he murmured, “I like you.”

  And while Avery’s heart near imploded, she somehow managed to say, “Took your sweet time.”

  He laughed, the huh-huh-huh tripping gorgeously down her arms, before casual as you please he unwound his arms and ambled away.

  Avery’s breath shuddered through her chest as she stared after him. Watching him ease through the multitude, stopping to chat whenever anyone called his name. Such a man. A good man, she thought, her gaze glancing off all the extras he’d donated without having been asked. The yacht he’d given simply because he could. No fanfare. No drama. Just honest, down-to-earth decency.

  And this man liked her.

  She liked him too. She felt full around him—light and safe a
nd important. She felt desired. She felt raw. In fact she liked the Avery she was around him. The one who didn’t have to try so hard all the time.

  The sexy, pulsing thrum of The Flamingos’ “I Only Have Eyes For You” hummed from the speaker near Avery’s feet. A burst of laughter split the night from somewhere to her right. A drip of condensation slid from the cold beer bottle clasped gently in her grip to land on her foot.

  As just like that, between breaths, between beats, between one second and the next, Avery Shaw fell in love for the first time in her life.

  * * *

  Jonah watched Avery laughing it up with Tim and his boyfriend, Roger. Playing referee between Luke and Claude. Mesmerising the ice-cream-van guy and the rest of the Dreadlock Army who’d managed to wangle tickets from who knew where—though by the number of nubile young female tourists fluttering around them it had probably been a smart move to bus them in.

  Not that he did any more than notice the others. Not with the way Avery seemed to fill his vision. Her dress a shimmery cream concoction of ruffles that made her skin gleam. Her hair a shining waterfall down her back. String of tiny silver beads sparkled on her wrist throwing off light every time she moved.

  And it took every bit of self-restraint he had not to drag her away and find somewhere quiet, somewhere private, even if just to mess her up some.

  Instead he downed a goodly dose of beer.

  For these feelings were not fun. They were bloody terrifying. For this Avery wasn’t the one he knew. In her place was some kind of professional miracle worker. What she’d done in whipping the slow-moving folk of the cove into a near frenzy to throw the bash of the century in such a short space of time was nothing short of miraculous.

  She was something else—not that his Avery hadn’t tried to tell him as much on many an occasion: competitive swimmer, life spent travelling the world, PR whiz in what was no doubt the toughest market in the world, with a life bigger, brighter, snazzier than he could possibly know.