by L. B. Dunbar
www.lbdunbar.com
Copyright © 2018 Laura Dunbar
L.B. Dunbar Writes, Ltd.
https://www.lbdunbar.com/
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
Cover Design: Shannon Passmore/Shanoff Formats
Cover Image: Adobe Stock Images
Edits: Jenny Sims/Editing4Indies
Table of Contents
Other Books by L.B. Dunbar
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
More by L.B. Dunbar
Keep in touch with L.B. Dunbar
Nibble of After Care
(L)ittle (B)lessings
About the Author
Other Books by L.B. Dunbar
Silver Fox Former Rock Stars
After Care
Midlife Crisis
Rom-com for the over 40
The Sex Education of M.E.
The Sensations Collection
Sound Advice
Taste Test
Fragrance Free
Touch Screen
Sight Words
Spin-off Standalone
The History in Us
The Legendary Rock Star Series
The Legend of Arturo King
The Story of Lansing Lotte
The Quest of Perkins Vale
The Truth of Tristan Lyons
The Trials of Guinevere DeGrance
Paradise Stories
Paradise Tempted: The Beginning
Paradise Fought: Abel
Paradise Found: Cain
The Island Duet
Redemption Island
Return to the Island
Modern Descendants – writing as elda lore
Hades
Solis
Heph
Dedication
For the readers who love seasoned romance for the over 40.
Thank you for giving me my dream.
1
Off-key melody
[Lily]
“Are you sure I should go? You don’t need me?”
My best friend for the past five years stares back at me with her chocolate eyes.
“If I say I will always need you, but you still have to go, will you finally leave?” She exaggerates her admonishment as though I’m a pain in the ass, which I can be at times. Ester Bankes came to work for me when I opened the bakery five years ago. Sassy mouthed with wild curls to match, my cappuccino-colored friend needed work. I could only offer her part-time work, but she stuck with me and turned into a full-time employee. It’s been a match made in heaven, or more so, through cupcakes. Because Cupcakes is more than my business—it’s my baby. My you-can-do-anything-you-set-your-mind-to dream. I take a deep breath of the sugary air around us and sigh.
“If you insist,” I tease.
“I do. I do. Now go.” Ester pushes on my arm, forcing me to move my feet toward the back door of our industrial baking center behind the storefront. I love this room, but I admit I need a break from it. After five long years of working my ass off, I’m finally showing a profit. It seems frivolous to take a vacation, but Ester demands it.
“Celebrate your success,” she encouraged.
I didn’t feel comfortable taking the tropical paradise singles-only vacation she proposed, so I settled on something smaller, low-key, and a little closer to home. The beach. I can’t wait to dip my toes in the sand and soak up a little sunshine. Obviously, I spend a ton of time indoors, but I like the outdoors. I balance life with yoga, preferably outside, but other than those sessions, it’s been a while since I’ve spent quality time in fresh air. Ester jokes I’ll turn into one of my cupcakes. Secretly, it’s a fear, and I work hard at eating right and exercising regularly to ensure I don’t become one of my tasty treats. I do love cupcakes, though.
Anyway, Ester further prodded the vacation idea by roping in my new friend, Midge, to the encouragement team. Midge even went so far as to find me a reasonable house at Ocean Beach in San Diego. I’ve never actually been to the seaside town, but she assured me it was quiet and reserved and just what I would need. A mini-break from my mini-cakes.
Midge is a new friend and the wife of Hank Paige, the brother of an old friend. I cringe at the label. I’ve never known what to call Brut, other than eventually a liar and a cheat. Twenty years later, I’m over the betrayal. I can forgive. Unfortunately, seeing Hank in my bakery a few months back brought an onslaught of forbidden memories. The old hurts still sting, but I push them away as I complete the drive down Highway 5.
You have reached your destination, the robotic voice on my phone’s GPS warns. Sigh. Relief blankets me as I park before the two-story structure. Every place looks the same in this strip of narrow beachside homes. When I exit my Jeep, the sound of the ocean rushes through my ears, and my blood rolls in sync. This is what I need. A celebration of dreams come true.
Forget that I’m alone at the party. Ester pushed the singles-only resort so I wouldn’t be, but I’d rather celebrate me by myself than try to hook up with a stranger. Not to mention, I’m not the hooking up type. I have trust issues that keep me alone, so I don’t do random anything. I’m in a better place with my single status. Party of one pleases me, I remind myself.
Entering the house, I spin, taking in the comfy couch, an oversized ottoman and easy chair, and the view. Ocean. Sand. Sunshine. Large glass doors lead to a partially covered deck. The layout is open concept complete with a wall of light wood cabinets, an island with a sink, and even an industrial stove. Standing in the kitchen area, I do a double take when I realize I can enjoy the view from there as well. I’m in heaven.
Racing up the stairs, I want to take a quick shower to wash off the drive through overheated LA and loosen my tense muscles after sitting in the car for three hours. Traffic prolonged the trip. The larger bedroom overlooks the ocean through F
rench doors. Instead of your typical wood or iron railing, the balcony has glass panels, so nothing obstructs the breathtaking view. I open the doors wide to allow in the fresh air and sunshine heat. Heading for the bathroom, I find a deluxe, sort of hexagon-shaped shower stall in the corner with glass on three sides. I undress hastily, thrilled the only attire I’ll need for a week includes bathing suits and cover-ups. The rain-spray shower coats my body in luxurious warmth, and I purr as everything washes off me. No memories. No bakery. I’m singing one of my favorite songs about late love and promises when I think I hear a voice. I shake off the thought. A condition of being alone too often is an oversensitivity to sound.
Don’t breathe. Listen. I blow out a breath knowing I’m being silly. I rinse the shampoo from my shoulder-length hair and sing again. I’m off-key, about to hit the harmony when I hear the soft click of the shower door open. Spinning, I find white hair on top of a toned male body. Bright blue eyes roam my figure, and then I scream.
2
Life break
[Brut]
As I drive south on Highway 5, the coast comes into view on my right, and the weight of Los Angeles, the shop, and Chopper slowly drifts away like the waves on the shore. Then again, the Pacific Ocean is a mild tempest and thoughts of those waves set my heart pattering in a way I hardly recognize. I’m excited and still a little surprised at how all this happened…
“You’re sending me on vacation?” I stare at my younger brother and co-owner of Restored Dreams. The auto repair and body shop has been my business for nearly twenty years, and I don’t think I’ve ever had an official vacation.
“Yep. Give yourself some time off, Brut. I got this.” With Midge, his new wife, standing behind him, her light brown eyes beaming at me, I know my brother means it. He can handle the shop alone for a week.
“I wouldn’t know where to go. What to do.” I don’t know why I’m trying to talk myself out of this. I could use some time off. I’m tired. Plain and simple. I need a life break.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve taken care of everything.” The emphasis on the last word has me worried for the first time in this conversation. Midge steps forward, her excitement hardly contained as she hands me a padded manila envelope.
“We rented you a house at Ocean Beach. You can surf. Sleep. Anything. Just relax.” My head snaps up at the mention of surfing. It’s been a rare treat over the years. The coast is so close but just far enough away from Pasadena that I couldn’t overindulge. Not to mention, as a single father, I hardly had the freedom to head to the beach each day.
“I pulled your old board out of the garage. Sent it off to a shop to be cleaned and waxed.” Hank really has thought of everything, and my heart skips at the possibility. A vacation. I blink at Hank. He’s always been a good brother—a bit wayward and reckless but good with me and my son. I know part of his attentiveness comes from guilt. He hasn’t had an easy life, and I stood by him when the pieces crumbled. He thinks he owes me, but he doesn’t. He’s my kid brother, even at forty-three, and I love him. It’s that simple.
I turn the envelope over in my hand. Inside is a lease agreement for a week and a set of keys.
“I don’t know what to say.” I swallow the lump in my throat. This is too generous, and I’m still a bit shocked at the idea of getting away from this place. The garage was never my ideal employment, but with my son, Chopper, and then the death of Pop, it fell into my lap. Restoring cars was something I could do but wasn’t who I wanted to be.
“Just go. Have fun. Do you remember what that is?” Midge teases me. I like my brother’s woman. I might have joked I’d steal her from him if he didn’t quit being an ass, but I knew from the moment I met her, she would only be Hank’s. She looked at him the way I wanted someone to look at me. I had that once. I wish it had turned into something more, but it was so long ago it’s a distant memory.
“Thanks, guys,” I say, letting the memory fade and pulling back to my reality. My weak gratitude seems insufficient. “And yes, smartass, I think I remember what fun is.” I laugh to cover the hesitancy.
Do I? I wonder. Do I really remember what fun used to be?
It’s been three days since Hank and Midge announced this gift, and a whirlwind of double checking Hank’s understanding of the schedule until Midge finally says, “I’m here. Don’t worry.”
Knowing that Midge was our former office manager sets me at ease. She was a quick study and went above and beyond what we needed to organize and clean up the shop. She set up things in an efficient and easy way for me to maintain if I dedicate an hour a day to the admin things. Thinking of Midge makes me smile. Again, she’s been good for my brother, and I like her in a sister-in-law way. We’d been a clan of men for too long. Midge joining the family brought three more boys—her sons. We need some sisters.
The thought reminds me of a pair of sisters I once knew. My lip curls at the memory of the blonde hair, blue eyes of the younger one. She had the sweetest smile and amazing lips, especially when they were on me. My smile fades, remembering why I lost her. I don’t know why I did what I did to her.
Really? my heart teases.
It was because of me, my dick recalls. The snicker from the evil appendage gets choked off when my heart remembers it wasn’t even a good lay that fucked my life. My stomach turns with the thought.
Exiting the highway, I let the memories go. The roar of water crashing to the shore pulls me back to the present where I’m safer to live. I park in the drive and stare at the narrow two-story house. My heart sprints. On the other side of this structure is the ocean, and I can already feel the excitement that something amazing is about to happen to me. Grabbing my bag, I head around the house, and my breath catches. The view is beautiful. Rolling waves, bright sunshine, and surfers on the sea. I can’t wait.
I enter the house. The living area faces large glass doors that open to a partially covered porch. A cozy open-concept kitchen falls directly behind the seating area. The stairs to the upper level are at the back, tucked behind the kitchen, and I climb the steps two at a time. I want my swimsuit and a beer. Then the surf.
As I reach the top step, I think I hear water running. I pause at the sound and decide it must be the ocean playing tricks on me. The house has air conditioning, but I want the windows open and the rhythmic crashing of the water to fill my ears. I turn into the first bedroom, set my stuff down near a dresser, and hear the running water again. It sounds like a shower. Taking a step toward the bathroom, I hear singing.
Words of loving someone later, being better when she’s older, being the greatest love of her life filter through the air as I open the door to a steam-filled space and a female voice belting off-key.
Did Hank do this? Did he hire a girl for the night for me? For the week? He jokes I need to get laid. When he mentioned he thought of everything, is this what he meant? I pause a second, taking in the silhouette of a feminine body, twisting and turning behind the glass enclosure. The heat of the room is sweltering, and I whip off my shirt to wipe at my face. A spattering sound hits the tile floor of the shower, possibly shampoo rinsing out of her hair. Her voice continues to squeak out lyrics. Strangely, the appendage that gets me in trouble begins to rise. I really do need to get laid, but can I do this? Can I fuck a hired female?
Another off-key lyric and I decide I can’t. I step forward, preparing to tell the woman she’ll need to leave. She doesn’t hear me call out, “Hey,” so I’m left with no choice but to open the stall door to get her attention. The first thing I notice is a large cupcake tattoo in hues of purple and pink on a smooth hip, and then she screams.
3
Shower fresh
[Lily]
“Brut?” I squeak.
He momentarily averts his eyes, but they quickly return to my exposed body. Suds slip over my breasts; my nipples erect from the sudden cool air on my warm skin. I’m too stunned to cover myself. His eyes flick away and then back a second time.
“Lily pad.” The old
nickname snaps my attention. Brut Paige is standing in my vacation bathroom, staring at my wet, naked body. Brut Paige. The man I loved as a girl. The man who broke my heart.
“Get out,” I shriek, arm extending for the edge of the shower door. When I lean forward, water drips off my body onto the tile floor, but Brut doesn’t move. His eyes watch my breasts dangle as I bend, droplets falling to the ground with soft plops. He swallows. Licks his lips. And smiles. Damn him. I recognize the curl of his lip—like a flashback into history—and it infuriates me how my body responds to his perusal.
“Brut,” I snap again, tugging at the glass door, but he refuses to release it. Instead, he steps forward, and my breath catches. For half a second, I think he’s going to join me. I envision him pressing me back until I collide with the cool tiles. His hands roam my body, frantically trying to touch everywhere first. His mouth crushing mine in a fierce reunion kiss. Spreading my legs so he can lift me and enter my willing body. I pause in the fantasy to remind myself again: this is Brut Paige—the man of my dreams when I was nineteen.
He blinks, shakes his head, and mutters a quiet apology. His eyes divert from my body, and he steps back, leaving the glass door wide open. I’m left bare, chilled, and turned on by his approving gaze. And completely confused as to why he is in my bathroom.
I turn off the shower and wrap myself in a luxurious towel. I’ve already unpacked, placing my clothes in the bedroom dresser to make myself feel at home. I left the casual dress I intended to wear on the bed, though, and find Brut standing by the open French doors of my room with his back to the bathroom. When I cough for his attention, he spins around to face me.
Again, his eyes skim over me, and I watch his throat roll. My breasts are enhanced by the towel covering them, exposing a swell of cleavage, and I tug at the twist holding the material in place. The terrycloth is short, and I worry my backside isn’t completely covered.