by Ava Branson
She took my now cold hands from my sides and pressed them between her warm ones. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
I swallowed hard, struggling to pull in a breath and not choke. “Just someone…from my past…who I never thought I’d see again,” I managed to rasp out.
Chloe looked hard into my face. “I’ll take a scientific, wild-ass guess here and say it didn’t end well?”
Unable to pull my gaze from the broad-shouldered, sandy-haired surfer I’d known so long ago, I could only shake my head and whisper, “No—no, it did not end well at all.”
Chapter Two
Devin
I’d discovered something about myself in the last couple of years. One, my desire to succeed had ebbed. To be frank, success had come to me as a naval architect the gazillionaires of the world wanted for their newest floating fantasy. While I’d worked my ass off and achieved more than I’d ever expected, there was a growing sense of dissatisfaction with my life. It had, as best I could identify, grown one-dimensional. Elements were missing and I could no longer pretend I had everything I wanted.
The grueling fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen hour days weren’t sustainable long term. I’d done what I set out to do. Built my own firm and, with it, a name for myself. But now my palms itched for something more. I needed a new direction.
What that was, I didn’t know.
As it worked out, my cousin’s wedding on an island off the southwestern coast of Florida coincided with the beginning of a month-long sabbatical I’d scheduled to explore my options. The latest yacht I’d designed had just been delivered to my clients in St. Thomas as their newest addition to their luxury charter business in the Caribbean. This was my second project with the owners and, over the course of both boats’ construction, we’d developed a strong friendship. So much so I felt comfortable approaching them about chartering the boat for a week. Any new boat was given a good shakedown cruise—a trip designed to find all the bugs or kinks before it was put into commercial service—and what better way to break in a new crew as well? The owners had generously allowed me to charter it at a lower rate and two very deserving people would have an amazing honeymoon. Being able to arrange this and gift this to my cousin and his new wife pleased me immensely, so my mood was upbeat, despite missing the ceremony. Commercial flights were great. Except when they weren’t.
I resigned myself to relax and enjoy an abridged celebration of their wedding…until I turned around and saw her.
When our eyes met, my heart thudded loose in my chest. Air that had effortlessly filled my lungs now refused to move. The sounds of chatter and the rush of the wind in the palm trees receded into the distance. Time stood still and for several moments, my mind registered nothing except the woman standing a short distance from me.
Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking…
Standing next to Chloe, her chocolate brown eyes wide with either shock or surprise, stood the one woman who had branded me for life. The one who ripped my soul to pieces and left me shattered. The one who still carried a piece of my heart, and always would.
Chloe stood clutching the woman’s hands, then turned to look over her shoulder directly at me.
“Devin.” Jason came up behind me, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder. It served to briefly jar me from the trance I found myself in. “I can’t thank you enough for this and for keeping it a secret, even from my nosy, busybody mother, but I knew I couldn’t trust her not to let something slip.”
Jason’s booming voice barely registered. Every sound was white noise. I couldn’t—didn’t dare—take my eyes off Michaela Dawson in case she was a mirage.
“C’mon, man.” Jason tugged once more on my shoulder until he sensed my distraction and followed the direction of my gaze.
“Oh, good! There she is.” He set off down the steps, taking them two at a time. Halfway to where the women stood, he must’ve realized I wasn’t behind him and turned to wave me to follow.
I descended the steps without taking my eyes off her. Twelve years ago, she took my breath away and, even with the passage of time, she still did.
Her eyes grew wider as the gap between us narrowed. Those expressive pools of chocolate looked…
Scared?
Chloe turned to face us, positioning herself directly in front of Micki in an almost protective posture. With one last glance at me, she smiled up at Jason. “I’m afraid we’ll have to hurry the pictures so we don’t keep our guests waiting any longer.” Whether she felt guilty for trying to rush things, I couldn’t tell, but she flashed me an apologetic look. “I just don’t want to throw off the timeline too far because I know they’ve been waiting and too much booze and too little food doesn’t end well.” She smiled nervously but tugged on Jason’s tux sleeve.
Jason, oblivious to the tension in the air, agreed. “Yeah, sure—”
Moving a step closer, I interrupted him, my arms wide open. “Micki Dawson, my God! What a surprise!”
Liar. You knew she had a photography studio here.
Emotions flickered in her eyes I couldn’t put my finger on, then she smiled and I was a nineteen-year-old boy, head over heels in love with a leggy brunette with a magical smile.
“Wow, this—yeah,” she stammered. “It’s been a long time.” She hesitated a few beats before stepping in my arms and letting me hug her—briefly—before she stepped back.
“Twelve years this June,” I supplied.
Twelve long years.
Jason spoke up, surprise in his voice. “You two know each other? That’s totally wild, man.” He threw his arm around my shoulder and yanked me against his side. “It sure as hell is a small world. When—?”
“A lifetime ago,” I finished quietly, my gaze still locked on hers. I didn’t want to miss a single nuance on her beautiful face.
“And so it was.” Micki gave a short laugh before turning to Jason with a brilliant smile. “It was a long time ago, but listen,” she commanded with a quick sideways glance at me before pointing back to the patio where the others stood waiting. “Let’s get this shot so the reception can go on.”
Jason, either high on the excitement of the moment, a little buzzed, or still completely ignorant of the charged atmosphere, proceeded to belt out an off-key rendition of My Heart Will Go On from the movie Titanic.
I followed behind the three of them, my mind processing the whole scene. Or trying to. Still in a whirlwind of thoughts, one thing was patently clear. The trip to Mimosa Key had just gotten very interesting.
Micki took charge of arranging the small group, directing us with practiced ease. She had the shots in no time and before I knew it, had slung her camera strap over her shoulder and turned to leave. She paused to give Chloe a quick hug and I overheard her assuring her she’d be in position to catch the upcoming introductions. She had a job to do so this wasn’t the time or place to push for more, but I would find a way later.
God, that woman had no idea what she’d done to me. In what now seemed a lifetime ago, I’d vowed then if I ever saw her again, I’d tell her.
My gaze followed her until she turned and I lost sight of her. Taking advantage of the moment, I turned in the opposite direction and made my way to the resort’s main lobby. My plans had just changed.
A short time later I made my way back to the reception, the DJ’s voice and music leading the way. My singular goal was to find Micki and, while I wouldn’t bother her, I could enjoy watching her work. Not being an expert on wedding photography, I figured they hung out on the outskirts at times to capture candid shots, so that’s where I’d start.
It didn’t take but a few minutes to spot her, camera in front of her face, focused on capturing candid shots of the moment unfolding before her. I waited until she stepped back and was reviewing the images on her camera screen.
“There you are.”
So much for my willpower and plan not to bother her.
She jumped at the sound of my voice.
“I’m sorry.” I lifted
my hands in apology. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She managed a tight smile. “It’s okay. I just didn’t hear you coming.” Her eyes narrowed as she considered me. “Were you looking for me?”
“Yes, actually.” For a split second, my mind went blank. What did I want to say? I’ve never gotten over you. Why did you end it? “I, uh…” Feeling foolishly clumsy, I rubbed the back of my neck, stalling to find words that didn’t sound completely lame. “I just wanted to say a proper hello and ask you how you are.”
She looked down at the camera she held in her hands, clicked a button, then lifted her eyes back to me. “I’ve been well, thanks. How about you? You look…good,” she finished, her eyes skimming over me before coming back to meet mine. Quickly, she returned her attention to the camera. “If you’d like, I’d be happy to send you a copy of those shots from earlier. No charge, of course.”
“Oh, yeah. That’d be great. Thanks. I wouldn’t mind seeing one of the wedding, if that wouldn’t be too much trouble. Unfortunately, I didn’t make it here on time. My flight was late.”
“That can happen.” She darted another quick glance my way. “Where were you flying in from?”
“St. Thomas.” The inner battle to cut this short and let her get back to work staged a valiant fight, but the longer I stood here and stared at her mouth, the harder doing the right thing became. It didn’t help one fucking iota that those luscious pink lips hadn’t changed at all. “The first leg was on time. It was the connection from Miami to Naples that screwed me up. So…you’re a wedding photographer—” Shit. I’d never blathered before in my life, but it sure as hell sounded like I was now. “Not that I’m stating the obvious or anything. I deduced that through shrewd powers of observation.”
She chuckled. “And here I thought I was being completely inconspicuous. That’s the sign of a good photographer, you know. We’re there, but you’re not supposed to know we are. I guess I’d better work on that.”
Her smile was now warm and open and the tension I hadn’t realized was in my shoulders eased a fraction.
I knew I was pushing the time element, but I’d be damned if I could find the wherewithal to let her go. Scouring for neutral topics that would keep her talking, I spit out the first inane thing that came to mind. “You have your own studio?” I knew she had a studio, but I wanted to hear about it from her…let her tell me what the internet couldn’t.
“Mm hmm, I do. Very creatively named Michaela Dawson Studio. Catchy, don’t you think?” Flashing me a broad grin, her eyes twinkled with amusement. I could’ve stood there all night watching her face as the sunlight grew warmer, richer, and dusted her cheeks with the shifting glow of late afternoon over the Gulf of Mexico.
Holy shit. Less than five minutes in her company and my hands itched to reach out and touch her. Whatever I’d thought about how it would feel to see her again evaporated into the balmy breeze. The internet had been all I’d had to go by and that hadn’t been nearly enough. And while I had plenty of shortcomings, being forthright wasn’t one of them. “This is probably the time when I confess I knew that.”
A three-second long look of shock registered on her face before she shook her head. “You knew what?”
Digging down deep, I wondered if I should feel guilty for cyber-stalking, but I rationalized the hell out of it and decided half the world did the same thing. Right? I shoved my hands in my pockets. “Yeah, well, I may or may not have Googled you a while back.” It was probably prudent to keep how many times to myself.
The look of surprise remained on her face. “You did?” Her brows met. “Why?”
How could I answer without sounding like a pathetic lovesick lunatic? I’ve never gotten over you was a little heavy to start out with. I wanted to know what you were doing had a definite stalker-ish vibe. I was just curious? Seemed reasonable, so door number three it was.
“I’d think about you occasionally, that’s all. Haven’t you ever wondered how someone you knew or went to school with was doing or where they were?”
She brushed strands of hair that had blown loose from her side braid off her face. “Sure. So…what about you? So, how long have you lived in—” She started, then stopped. “Where are you now?”
“London. Eight years. Amazing architecture and history, but too crowded for me long term. I miss warm water and warmer sun. In fact, I’m looking at making some changes in my career, so I may be leaving London behind.” I shrugged. “Who knows?”
“Really? You’ve built such a—” She stopped abruptly, snapping her mouth shut with an audible click.
“I’ve built a—?” I prompted, waiting.
A sheepish grin spread on her face, punctuated with a deep stain of color on her cheeks. She laughed…a rich, velvety sound that resonated square in the center of my chest. Memories flooded me of days spent sailing, diving. Laughing and loving in the surf. The way she’d throw her head back when she found something especially funny.
She chewed on her lower lip and peered up at me through squinted eyes. “Okay, so…if you’re confessing, I guess I’d better, too. In the interest of full disclosure, of course.”
I inclined my head, tasting the flavor of hope. “Of course.”
“So, I confess…I Googled you, too.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “And what did I find, but holy hell! What a big shot marine architect you’ve become! Starting your own firm and making a huge name for yourself on the watery playgrounds of the rich and richer.”
An unexpected swell of pleasure filled me so completely all rational thought ceased. All but one. Whether it was fate, karma…call it whatever. I was here, standing three feet from the woman whose image and body had haunted me for over a decade. And I dared to wonder…
“Glad to know I wasn’t alone.”
She gave me a cheeky grin. “Haven’t you ever wondered how someone you knew or went to school with was doing?” she repeated.
“Indeed,” I conceded wryly. “Now, you know that this means, don’t you?”
She shook her head with a light frown. “No?”
I tried to keep from smiling. “When two people confess to the same thing, they go out to celebrate. You know…something simple, like breakfast, lunch, or dinner?”
She stared for a nanosecond before snorting. “Is this a British custom? Because I’ve never heard of it on this side of the pond.”
Nodding, I did my best to keep my expression neutral. “Yes, it is. Very big in England. Very big.”
“Oh, well, if that’s the case…” she allowed, right before her lips twitched into a mile-wide grin. “Glib is still your middle name, I see.”
Enjoying the budding connection, I shrugged with happy acceptance. “I prefer to think of it as spreading joy wherever I go.”
Her shoulders shook as she laughed. “You’re still a piece of work, Devin Stockton.”
I bowed my head in acceptance. “Thank you. Now, which would you like? Breakfast, lunch, or dinner? Or…all three?” Her brows quirked up, whether considering accepting or searching for a way to decline, I couldn’t tell. “I’d just really love to visit and catch up,” I finished with complete sincerity.
A thoughtful expression settled on her beautiful face. “That would be nice…truly, but tomorrow is really busy.” She gave me an apologetic smile. “I just keep a tight schedule, you know?”
Schedules, I could relate to. “I totally understand, but listen.” I paused, reaching for my wallet in my back pocket and pulled out a business card. “Here’s my contact information. My cell, email…well, all that shit. So, if you change your mind, or something…”
Her fingers lightly brushed mine when she took the card and a rush went up my arm. Our eyes locked and held. Neither of us spoke until the moment was broken by someone calling Micki’s name.
She pulled her gaze from mine, her eyes moving past me to find the source. With another apologetic glance, she tucked the card in her back pocket. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to—”
> “Yes, yes…of course.” I stood to the side so she could pass.
She’d only taken a few steps before looking back over her shoulder. “It really is wonderful to see you again, Devin.”
I stood still, watching her until she was lost in the crowd of wedding guests. My heart pumped in my chest, wanting to hope. My head fought back, trying to reason.
But I didn’t give a shit about reason. Micki Dawson had just re-entered my life and I had to know.
I had to try.
Chapter Three
Micki
I hadn’t gotten drunk last night. Not exactly, anyway. I never took a drink while working, but when I’d gotten home to the safe confines of my tidy little cottage after Chloe and Jason’s wedding, a little libation seemed appropriate. I’d dropped my bags on the banquette bench just inside my kitchen and made my way straight over to the small built-in wine rack. Pulling the cork on the first bottle of pinot grigio I came across, I tossed some ice cubes in a glass—my humble apologies to the sommeliers in the world—and promptly drank almost half of the bottle before conking out, facedown, on my bed. Fully clothed, makeup still on, my fingers wrapped around my cell phone. That handy bit of technology I’d spent the last hour on before collapsing on the bed, Googling anything and everything that had Devin’s name attached to it.
The next morning, I woke up to my internal alarm clock, rolling over with a groan and draping an arm across my forehead. I stared at the ceiling for several long minutes until my extremely chatty and loud cat jumped on the bed, demanding his breakfast. There was no ignoring Cosmo when breakfast called. Petting him absentmindedly, I replayed everything that had happened in the last eighteen hours.
“Holy shit,” I said to the white plastered ceiling over my bed. Devin Stockton had reappeared in my life, and my mind battled with ways to absorb it, the battle made more difficult as every ounce of shame and guilt I’d lived with all these years rushed back and permeated every cell of my body.