Herons Landing

by JoAnn Ross

  Which right now were telling her to jump Seth Harper and find out exactly how sexy she was.

  Wrong choice. Wasn’t it?

  “I think it’s best we just get back to work,” she said, suddenly realizing that as they’d been talking, they’d been inching forward until the toes of her new turquoise-and-lime-green shoes were nearly touching the toes of his scuffed work boots. He was not only in jumping range, all she’d have to do was go up on her toes, just the least little bit, and press her lips against his, and...

  Do. Not. Go. There.

  “Work,” she reminded them both before things got dangerous. “So, I was reading about kitchens. And what colors stimulate appetites. Turns out they’re red, yellow and orange.”

  “So, you’re planning to open a McDonald’s in Herons Landing?”

  She laughed, relieved to see that he’d lightened up, and hoped that she might have had something to do with his change of mood. “No. And although my stove actually comes in red, orange or yellow, I opted for the Provence blue. Many more formal restaurants use that color because it’s calming.”

  “It seems you’d want people eager to start out their vacation adventures, rather than hang around the house all day.”

  “I do. But not everyone’s a morning person, so I want to ease them into their day.” She reached into the case she’d put next to the blueprints on the plywood board balanced across two sawhorses. “I was considering sage green, but I’m so in love with the color of the stove, I decided to go with a bluish gray for the cabinets.”

  “That’ll work with the water and fog,” he said, looking at her paint chip and the brochure for the range. “And I can see how it’d be soothing. But during the winter it could get a bit depressing.”

  “That’s why I decided to do this white subway tile,” she said, pulling out a piece. “I was thinking of doing it in a herringbone pattern, but that costs more because it uses more tile and might look busy. So I went with this one with a wavy edge for interest. It’s popular now, which could risk it becoming trendy, but it should be okay because it also dates back to New York subway tiles in the early 1900s, which makes it a classic.”

  “You’re going to do all the walls in tile?”

  The doubt in his tone confirmed that Seth was more than a builder. That he had a visionary eye. “No, that’d be too hard and cold. I was thinking either a creamy white shiplap, or painting one wall yellow.”

  “The shiplap, if you’re going with the ceiling beadboard like Kylee and Mai’s, would be a lot of wood.”

  “You’re right. Then it’s yellow. But not obnoxious fast-food yellow, but a soft, pale shade to brighten up gray days.” She pulled out another paint chip and held it up to the one for the cabinets. “I was going to go with all white dishes, but now that I’ve chosen this, I think I’ll have you put in some open shelves and I can use some blue-and-white plates.”

  She could tell she’d lost him with that when he merely said, “Sounds great.” Then studied the brochure she’d put on the plywood. “That’s one helluva big stove.”

  “Fifty-five inches,” she agreed. “But we’ve room, so why not use it? I thought we could have this space over here—” she tapped on the blueprint “—for a marble slab for rolling out dough. And a wooden countertop next to the sink for cutting fruits and vegetables.”

  “We can do that.”

  There was a lot of back and forth, but she didn’t mind because he knew the construction end of it, and she knew, with help from her mom, how she wanted the kitchen to look and function. The oven was, admittedly, a luxury, as was the matching hood, but she’d fallen in love with it and knew that it would make her happy every time she walked into her kitchen. Once again, she compared the satisfaction she’d felt in her old job with the exciting expectations of this renovation. She wasn’t so naive not to think there’d be unwelcome surprises and setbacks. She had, after all, watched all those HGTV makeover programs.

  Besides, all those renovation challenges would be worth it. They’d also require her mind to stay fully engaged on the house, which in turn should keep her suddenly mutinous lady parts in check.

  Or so Brianna told herself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  TWO HOURS LATER, Seth had made enough pencil sketches that they’d decided they were pretty much finished.

  “I love the idea of the second butler’s pantry,” she said. “I can do a lot of food prep there that’ll keep the kitchen area looking tidier. And the walk-in pantry is, I swear, nearly the size of my Las Vegas apartment.” That was, admittedly, an exaggeration. But not by much. Not that she’d minded since she’d spent so little time there.

  “It’s going to be great.” He hooked his hands in his belt loops and looked around as if imagining the room completed. “Better than great. You get photos up on that website of yours and you’ll be drawing folks from all over the country. And beyond. I can imagine some French couple going gaga over that stove.”

  “And you thought I was being extravagant.”

  “I never said that. It’s your money. Your business. Your stove. Which is pretty damn special. If you don’t mind, I’m going to want to put it in our online portfolio.”

  “I’d be proud.”

  “Great... Well.”

  A little silence fell between them. Now that they’d settled that work issue, whatever personal feelings that had zinged between them was back. In spades.

  “I like that shirt,” he said.

  “Thanks.” She lifted a hand to the V-neckline and was glad he couldn’t feel how her pulse was jumping at the way he was looking at her. “Dottie and Doris gave me the name of the artist who silkscreened it. He’s in Port Townsend. I emailed him and asked if he’d be willing to reproduce the same image, but with Herons Landing written above it, and Honeymoon Harbor below. I could sell them here, in a little gift shop area—”

  “The guys at Cops and Coffee seem to do well with theirs.”

  “I can attest to that.” She lifted the travel mug with the shop’s logo she’d bought just this morning. “The twins at the Dancing Deer said they’d put them in their shop, too. Which got me thinking about how many local artists and artisans we have here.”

  “Enough that your uncle’s got a list of people waiting for him to finish that second floor work space.”

  “Which means I should talk to him about freeing up some additional room on the street level. The gallery could offer more high-end items, while the other space could sell more souvenir-type things. I ran into your mom as I was leaving the Dancing Deer and she agreed the two spaces could complement each other, drawing customers back and forth.”

  “From what I saw, she wouldn’t have any problem convincing Mike of anything.”

  “I’m sorry. I was so enthusiastic about the idea, I forgot how it’d be one more complication in your life.”

  “Their life,” he reiterated. “Between you and me, I think right now Mike and Mom are just friends. I’m pretty sure she wants to stay married. She just wants some changes.”

  “She’s got her work cut out for her. But then again, she’s like my mother. I can’t imagine her not succeeding in whatever she puts her mind to.”

  “It’s up to Dad,” he said. “Speaking of whom, if we’ve done enough for today, I’d like to run by his place and check on him. He didn’t show up at the cottage this morning and he’s not answering his phone.”

  “Did you try texting?”

  “He refuses to text.”

  “Oh... Well, he is sixty.”

  “My grandmother—his mother—texts several times a day from her assisted-living apartment to fill me in on all the gossip and intrigue that goes on in the rec and dining rooms. And she’s eighty-nine. It’s more a case of him not liking change.

  “I’ve been thinking about you,” he surprised her by saying as they walked out of the hous
e. His back was to her as he locked up.

  “About the job?”

  “No.” He turned around, pocketed the key and looked directly into her face. “About you. In a way that’s not at all job-related. But personal.”

  “Oh.” Her rebellious heart took a hopeful leap. “Like friends personal?” she asked as Bandit came loping up with that ratty ball again.

  He shook his head. “More than that... Damn.” He picked up the ball and threw it far enough to put a runner out at second base if they’d been standing in a batter’s box. It landed in a bunch of scrub trees and bushes, buying them more time. “I’ve also dreamed about you.”

  “Me, too. About you.” No point in adding that those dreams hadn’t only been lately.

  “Well.” He blew out a breath. “We should probably talk about it.”

  Well, her plan for keeping the naughty lady parts, which had leaped up at the mention of dreams, in check certainly hadn’t held up long. Brianna had spent nearly all day, every day of her life talking. It had been her job. One she’d done well. She’d dealt with people experiencing all ranges of emotions, and would probably go back to doing exactly the same once Herons Landing opened. But for now...

  “Or we could just give it a test,” she suggested.

  His chocolate eyes darkened, which made the gold flecks seem brighter. “What are you thinking?”

  “That sometimes reality doesn’t live up to the dream. Or any fantasy. So maybe we should just see, to get the wondering over with.” Throwing caution to the winds, she went up on the toes of her new shoes and lifted her lips to his.

  It was just a soft, gentle press of lips. Beyond what friends might share, but certainly not anything even R-rated. Even so, she felt her heart nearly stop with the sheer perfection of the kiss she’d waited a lifetime for.

  It didn’t last long. There wasn’t any tongue tangling or lip nicking. But the scrape of his afternoon beard had her tingling and wanting more. Much, much more.

  But then he leaned back, looking down at her, his hands on her shoulders. To push her away? Or pull her closer.

  “Again,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said on a shuddering, relieved sigh.

  His hands moved from her shoulders to cup her face, and this time, as she parted her lips, his tongue brushed against hers. He tasted of dark coffee and, yes, although he might not be ready to admit it yet, desire. His palms and fingertips, so rough, yet tender, were beyond what she imagined. She wanted to feel them everywhere. In all those places that were already heating up.

  As she breathed in the aromas of pine-scented soap, of sweat, the salt she tasted when she broke contact just long enough to kiss his dark neck, Brianna wanted to feel him all over. She wanted to run her hands across those wide, strong shoulders that had carried so many burdens for so long. She wanted to rip open his shirt, like some daring heroine in one of those historical novels she devoured like crack, and trace those solid muscles she could feel beneath his shirt. She wanted to rip away his belt, unfasten the buttons on those faded, torn jeans and...then, no!...he’d pulled away again.

  Seth had felt the heat change from a simmer to a flash as hot as the forest fires he’d once fought to earn extra money during the summer fire season. Hotter than your average bonfire, it was a flat-out conflagration capable of incinerating them both.

  He’d known he was in trouble when he’d realized that somehow, without remembering moving, they’d been standing so close together. Told himself that he should have backed away when she’d first lifted her mouth to his. Though, to be honest, he’d passed that point when he’d read her intention in those wide blue eyes.

  Late afternoon clouds had begun to gather over the still snowy mountaintops, chilling the air as it descended through the town and over the water, causing a cooling fog to rise. Yet inside Seth, heat flared, and as his tongue thrust through her open lips, he knew her shiver had nothing to do with the drop in temperature.

  He’d felt as if he were standing on the summit of ice-clad Mount Olympus. One false step and he’d fall the nearly eight thousand feet, crashing over rocks down to Honeymoon Harbor’s sea level. While he was busy concentrating on breathing, other, long-neglected body parts had kicked in and were demanding attention.

  One more minute, he told himself as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against him, breast to thigh. Just one more minute of this pleasure he’d forgotten. The glory of a woman’s taste, of her breasts pressed against his chest, of her thighs against his, of, hot damn, a raw, sexual hunger he’d buried deep inside him, which had suddenly roared to life.

  He tangled his fingers in the silk of her hair, imagined it against his thighs and realized that they were on the verge of doing something they could end up regretting. Which was why, even as she wrapped one long leg around his, rubbing against him in a way that had them in danger of spontaneous combustion, even though it took every ounce of self-control he possessed, he took hold of her shoulders and eased them apart. Again.

  “We need to think about this.”

  “My brain may be a bit fogged at the moment, but I thought we’d agreed that we both had been thinking about it.”

  “True. But now that we’ve conducted your test, I’m thinking that maybe we’re moving too fast.”

  “We’ve known each other forever.”

  “As friends, like you said. I don’t want to screw that up. Especially when we’re working together. Also, I need to be straight with you. I haven’t had sex with anyone for nearly three years.”

  “Not for the lack of opportunity, I suspect.”

  “No.” He’d been surprised how being widowed had seemingly moved him to the top of some eligible males of Honeymoon Harbor list. When he’d mentioned that once, in a rare open moment to Quinn, Brianna’s brother had pointed out that he’d already proven himself to be good husband material. Therefore, he could be considered a catch.

  When he’d admitted that it wasn’t just single women who’d made it clear that they wouldn’t mind taking a tumble with him, Quinn had just shaken his head, given him an “Are you nuts?” look and asked him if he’d happened to look in a mirror lately. And, although Quinn couldn’t figure it out, women seemed to go for guys in tool belts. Maybe, he’d mused, the low-slung leather belts reminded them of gunslingers in all those old Western movies.

  Which was when they’d both decided that the Mars and Venus deal was totally true.

  “I’ve had my opportunities,” he admitted. “But you know this town. Word gets around. One of the reasons why, if you and I did try being a couple, it would be awkward after the breakup.”

  “Which implies number one—” she held up a finger “—that you’re assuming we’d even become a couple, and—” another finger “—that if we did, you expect we’d break up.”

  “I’m not going to remarry.” Seth might not be entirely clear what was happening between Brianna and him, but that was one thing he damn well knew for certain.

  “Not ever?”

  “No.”

  “Because Zoe was your soul mate?”

  His reasons were more complicated than that. But this was neither the time nor place to get into it. If he were lucky, she’d decide he was a lost cause, fall for some other Honeymoon Harbor guy, like Dan Matthew, who made a good living as a sports fishing guide, or Cam Montgomery, Bandit’s vet, and they could go back to being the kind of friends they were in the old days. Before that sunny spring afternoon his world had stopped turning.

  “Yeah, that,” he said. Zoe had always claimed they were soul mates, and he’d never had any reason to believe it wasn’t true. They’d fit. Not perfectly, but what marriage was ever perfect? Besides, perfection could become boring. And, as he’d learned in the building business, while it might be a nice ideal, it was impossible to achieve.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he said as a
frown came into her eyes and her lips, which he could still taste, turned down.

  “You didn’t,” she assured him even as her eyes said otherwise. “Did you hear me saying I wanted to get married?”

  “No.” He folded his arms.

  “Although that kiss was off the Richter scale, I agree we should think things through. I’m nothing like Zoe. In fact, you could probably consider me the anti-Zoe. I always thought one of the reasons she and I were friends was because we were so different. I’m not impulsive. I make lists.”

  “Nothing wrong with lists. I couldn’t do my work without them.”

  “Me, neither. And I’m sure that Zoe must have kept lists of meds, and protocols, and treatment stuff for her patients. But although she had her life all planned, those plans always came from trusting her instincts. Not from writing up detailed pros and cons lists.”

  Seth wasn’t surprised that she’d nailed Zoe. They had been nearly as close as sisters. “A helluva lot of good that did her,” he muttered. Hadn’t she written in her journal that though some Greek guy might make a better husband, she was going to follow her heart and marry him?

  “That was a horrible thing, Seth. I hope you’re not blaming her for going into the Army.”

  “Hell, no. Of course I’m not.” Which didn’t mean that he still didn’t get pissed off from time to time. But blame? Never. Who he blamed was himself. For not protecting her. Somehow.

  “I didn’t think you would. But getting back on topic, the thing is, I make detailed life lists, too. Brad, he was my assistant at Midas in Vegas, always called me the empress of planners and spreadsheets. The only impulsive thing I’ve done in years, probably going back to when I used to break into this house with you and my brothers, was to quit my job, come back here and buy this house from you.”

  “I could suggest that was a good outcome for both of us. But it doesn’t exactly make my point about keeping our distance.”