Love on the Lake Boxed Set

by Amy Gamet

  She crossed her arms. She was wearing a too-tight t-shirt and the action pushed her breasts together. "I didn't say you had to leave."

  "I haven't seen you in two days. Figured you must be avoiding me."

  "I didn't know you wanted to hang out."

  "Didn't say I did."

  "You just wondered where I've been."

  He shrugged. "I didn't say I wondered. I said you were avoiding me."

  She shook her head, then focused on something off to the side. "Why is my underwear over there?"

  "Because you left it in the middle of my floor."

  "My floor."

  "Whatever. You knew I had to come in here and work, so I figured you just decided to leave me a little present."

  She flushed. "Very funny."

  "That wasn't an invitation?"

  "No."

  She marched out of the room and he smiled in her wake. At least he could make her uncomfortable.

  Maybe she feels it, too.

  The tension between them, the curiosity.

  He finished up the rest of the grout, taking time to clean out his tools in the bathroom sink, then made his way downstairs.

  Lisa was standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a drink in her hand. She held it up. "You want one?"

  "What are we drinking?"

  "Gin and tonic."

  He eyed her warily.

  "I won’t bite," she said.

  He walked into the kitchen, noticing the high color in her cheeks. "Do you want something?"

  "What gave it away?"

  He stepped closer to her, close enough to see her eyes widen as he leaned into her personal space and took the glass from her hand. "You look guilty."

  Her gaze shifted from his eyes to his neck and back again, then she turned to make herself a drink. He let his eyes rake over her unnoticed, from her softly curling hair to the curve of her backside. He wondered if her panties were like the ones on the bathroom floor.

  Lisa Addario was a very beautiful woman, and for a moment he let himself think he could do something about it. An image flashed in his mind, Lisa pressed between him and the counter, fistfuls of her hair in his hands.

  She turned around. "I want you to help me convince my mother not to sell the house," she said.

  He raised his eyebrows. "Why would I do that?"

  "She doesn't know what she's doing, trying to sell this place."

  "She knows exactly what she's doing, you just don't want her to do it."

  "No, I don't."

  "Why not?"

  "This is my house."

  "No, it isn't. This isn't even your town anymore. What I don't understand, is how come you just show up out of the blue and decide you want to live here again?"

  "I didn't say I wanted to live here."

  Disappointment flashed, surprising him. "Ah, so you're just trying to get your mother to keep a house she probably can't afford and isn't living in, just so you can visit once every few years and feel all nostalgic?"

  "She can afford it."

  "You're missing the point."

  "No, you're missing the point. This house is my home."

  "How can you call it that after you've been gone for so long?"

  Lisa's eyes combed the room and landed on the fireplace. "My great-grandfather built this house. Did you know that?"

  "Yes."

  "We used to have fires almost every night in the wintertime. My Dad and I would sit here and read books, not even talking, just reading books by the fire."

  Greg pretended to wipe tears from his eye with the back of his hand. "That's beautiful."

  Lisa elbowed him in the gut. "You're not funny. This house was supposed to be mine."

  "If you want a fireplace, go buy your own house and make sure it has one."

  "Forget it. Why am I trying to explain this to you?" She began to walk away.

  "I don't know. But I don't know why you left your underwear on the floor this morning, either."

  She turned back around and crossed to him. "What are you implying? That I left it there for you to find, like some come-hither message?"

  He leaned one hip on the counter. Wow, she was hot when she was angry, her hair framing her rosy face, and he wanted to fight with her forever. "That's sort of what I was thinking, yes."

  "In your dreams."

  "It’s not like that would have been completely out of character," he teased, knowing almost instantly he’d made a terrible mistake.

  Her eyes showed he’d hurt her, then they changed to an angry stare. She moved to walk past him and he grabbed her arm.

  "Lisa…"

  She shook him off and kept walking. "Let go of me."

  "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that." He followed her through the dining room. "Lisa…"

  She spun around. "Stop following me. Just get out of here and leave me alone."

  He touched her arms. "I said I’m sorry."

  "I’ve heard worse from you." Her voice cracked and he knew what she was talking about. The last time he saw her before she went away, drunk at the Grill, flirting with a bunch of college boys.

  Drawing a lot of attention to herself.

  Bad attention.

  He didn’t know which he hated more—the way those guys were looking at her, or the way the locals were. He’d pulled her aside and tried to explain why she shouldn’t do what she was doing. When that didn’t work, he’d lashed out in frustration.

  The whole town talks about how easy you are, how many men have been with you. Do you know that? Do you know what a joke you’ve become?

  "The Grill," he said.

  She nodded.

  He could see in her eyes how his words had hurt her, and he longed to erase that damage. "I shouldn’t have said that."

  She took a shaking breath in, then out. "I didn’t love myself very much. It’s like I thought other people could do that for me."

  "They can’t."

  "Do you know how hard it was to come back here? To face everybody who thinks I’m trash?" She shook her head.

  "No."

  "Really hard."

  He narrowed his eyes. "I know a little something about coming home and facing people, too."

  Her eyes were big and wide and pulling him in. He longed to reach out with his hand and touch her face. His hand twitched.

  "What happened with you and Melanie?" she asked.

  He lifted his chin. "It didn’t work out."

  "So, it’s none of my business."

  "No." He shook his head, an invisible barrier coming down between them like a curtain. "No, it isn’t."

  He put down his drink and left the kitchen, cursing under his breath as he walked. He was a fool to think he could do this. Any of it. What was he thinking, flirting with her? He’d been about to touch her.

  You wanted to do a lot more than that.

  He pushed out the screen door and down the front steps, rain falling onto his heated skin. The door slammed shut once, twice, and he knew she was following him.

  "Greg, wait!"

  He kept walking, pulling out his keys and unlocking the car.

  Mee-beep.

  Damn that stupid car!

  It was all her fault. Everything. The truck and the stupid rental. The rattling of his cage when he wanted to be left well enough alone.

  "Greg!"

  He spun around on his heel and she nearly crashed into him. "What?" he hollered. "Can’t you see that I want to be alone?"

  The rain was falling harder now. She was staring up at him, and the hurt look in her eyes was pulling at him, making him want to take the words back, to pull her into his arms and make everything okay.

  "That’s not what I see at all."

  Going up on her tiptoes, she kissed him.

  His arms instantly went around her, pulling her clear off the ground as he devoured her mouth. Never had he wanted a woman like this, even as he knew he had no right to have her. He couldn’t get enough, couldn’t get close enou
gh. He pressed her against the car, his mouth moving down her neck, the taste of her skin just like she smelled, and he knew he would recognize her scent anywhere.

  Lightning flashed, quickly followed by thunder.

  "We should go inside," she said, breathless.

  Greg froze.

  The look in her eye was clear as a bright, shining day. There was no uncertainty in their depths, though he knew there was plenty for both of them in his own.

  Thunder rolled in the distance.

  "No." He released her, forcing his hands to let her go. "I’m sorry. I’m going home."

  Chapter 6

  Denise Mora lifted a spoonful of soup to her mouth. "Your father is in Tucson for a conference, did he tell you?"

  Greg shook his head. "No."

  "The Association of Cardiothoracic Surgeons. He’s being honored with an award."

  "That’s great." He stirred his soup, neither knowing nor caring what kind it was. Lunch with his mother at the marina was a regular affair since he came back to town, with her insisting she couldn’t bear to go too long without seeing her only son.

  He waited for what he knew would come next.

  "I know he talked to Nora Owens out at UCLA on your behalf. Your father seems rather certain they’d be willing to consider your application, even though it’s past the deadline."

  "Mother, I’m not going to medical school." He met her eyes, seeing the worry shining in hers.

  "I know you needed some time," she said. "I didn't question your decision when you wanted to put it off for a while…"

  "Not for a while, Mom. Permanently."

  "But why? I don't understand. You've always wanted to be a doctor."

  "Not anymore."

  "Then explain to me what happened. Is it Afghanistan?"

  Greg closed his eyes. He was tired of hearing that question, more tired than he would have thought possible. Whether he had a headache, or was lost in his own thoughts, or unable to sleep, his mother's refrain was always the same.

  Is it Afghanistan?

  Sometimes it was, that was for sure. But even when it was, he always resented the question, as if he was keeping some sort of secret from his parents and they'd been trying to get it out of him for the better part of three years.

  Maybe I am.

  Better to keep the images and realities of war to himself than share them with the people he loved.

  "I just don't want to be a doctor. I want to build things. After all the destruction I've seen, that shouldn't be so difficult to understand."

  His mother chewed slowly, staring at him, and he knew she was choosing her words.

  "You have a gift, Greg. You have the mind of a surgeon. I've known it since you were a little boy. Everyone commented…"

  Greg could feel his muscles tensing, the spoon in his hand beginning to shake. He could no more be a doctor than he could fly to the moon, and his parents' expectations that he should persevere were beginning to make him angry.

  "Enough," he whispered.

  "Many people without your ability would kill to have the opportunities before you."

  "I said enough." He watched as her eyes widened. "I will not be a doctor. Not ever. I’m sorry if you and Dad can’t accept that, but your disapproval isn’t going to change anything."

  She shook her head slowly. "I don't understand, that's all. I don't understand how you could change your mind so completely, as if you were a different person."

  "I am a different person."

  "Of course, you're not."

  "In every way that matters, I am." He wiped his mouth with his napkin and placed it on the table, pushing his chair out. "I need to get back to work."

  Her eyes pleaded with him.

  "Please sit down, sweetheart," she said.

  He clenched and unclenched his hand, then sat down.

  She picked up her water glass and held it in her hand. "I want you to know, it isn't that I disapprove of what you're doing now. You've begun your own company and you seem to be doing well. That's something to be proud of."

  For other people.

  She didn't say it, of course, but he could hear the implication in her tone. He was the son of a great physician, and it was only right he should become one himself.

  It was what you wanted, too.

  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  There had been a time when he wanted to be a doctor more than he wanted anything else in this world. Yes, to follow in his father's footsteps, but he had truly wanted it for himself as well. The power inherent in a doctor's work appealed to him. The ability to heal people, to help them.

  An image flashed in his mind, Evan lying on the ground, his eyes staring at Greg. Someone was screaming, and he knew it was him like he knew the world was spinning, something he found hard to believe even as they twirled through space.

  Sweat broke out on his palms, his forehead, his chest. Once he was back there it was hard to get back out, the emotions pulling at him, drowning him, fighting him for air.

  There was no way he could face those memories every minute of his working day, no matter how much he wanted to help people. He had too many issues of his own, emotions making him freeze up in moments of crisis.

  Which sure as hell isn’t what you want in a physician.

  "Greg, are you okay?" his mother asked.

  He opened his mouth and took in a gasping breath, nausea rolling through him.

  She reached her hand across the table. "Is it Afghanistan?"

  He sat back in his chair, suddenly too aware of his present surroundings, a waiter in a white suit jacket carrying a tray, the quiet hush of the other diners, the pounding of his heart and the strange way his mother was looking at him.

  "Greg?"

  He met his mother's eyes. "I'm okay."

  Her look told him she knew he was anything but. She picked up her fork and dropped her eyes. "I’m worried you’re alone, now that Melanie’s gone. I want to see you happy, Greg, and I’m worried you’re not even trying to move on from the past."

  He just stared at her, no words to counter her lack of understanding.

  "I’ll tell your father to let it go for a while."

  For a while.

  He almost laughed.

  When were they going to get it? He was broken, and nothing was going to fix him and make him the way he used to be. He would never be a doctor.

  Not ever.

  An endless sadness threatened to swallow him whole. He remembered how much he used to want it, still felt it when he allowed himself to feel anything at all.

  His mom cleared her throat. "I heard Lisa Addario's back in town. Have you seen her?"

  Greg's mind conjured a picture of Lisa’s reflection in the shower, all shiny skin and soapy wonder. "Once or twice."

  "Do you think she’ll stay in town this time?"

  Would she? He hadn’t really considered the possibility. Lisa staying in Moon Lake would mean big trouble for Greg. He shrugged. "I doubt it."

  "I always liked her. She has spirit. Spunk."

  "I didn’t know you liked her."

  "Yes, I do. And she likes you."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You may have only had eyes for Melanie, but Lisa was interested in you from day one."

  "She was interested in a lot of men."

  "Well, some people need to go through a phase like that before they realize who they really are and what they want out of life."

  "You say that like you have some experience with this, mother."

  "I daresay we all do, though some people take longer to find a safe harbor. How is Barbara?"

  "I’m not sure. Lisa’s worried. I guess her mom’s hinting around that she’s pretty sick."

  "So why aren’t you sure?"

  "I don’t know. Mrs. Addario seemed fine to me."

  "People can be seriously ill without looking sick at all."

  "I know." He shrugged. "It’s just a hunch I have, like maybe she’s pretending to be sicke
r than she really is to get Lisa to stay in Moon Lake."

  "I can’t believe she’d really do that. Now let's finish up. I need to get to the club in time for Pilates."

  * * *

  It was hot and humid, and the public beach on Moon Lake was crowded. Lisa opened a beer on the side of the cooler. "Melanie hates me."

  Brandy sat on her beach towel, rubbing sunscreen on her arms. "I don’t think she hates you. She’s just scared you’re going to hurt your mom. You should talk to her and tell her how you feel."

  Lisa tilted her head. "It sounds like you know her pretty well."

  "We’re friends."

  "Good friends?"

  "Yes."

  A burst of jealousy, and Lisa fought to keep herself from frowning. When she lived in town, Brandy and Melanie barely ever spoke to each other, but clearly that had changed in her absence. Why should it matter to her if Brandy and Melanie were friends?

  Because Brandy’s all I’ve got.

  "So my sister is like your new BFF?"

  Brandy rolled her eyes. "Lisa, you stopped speaking to me after I came to visit you, remember?"

  "That’s not how I remember it, actually. You called me a bunch of names, then left town in a huff. I’m not saying I didn’t need to hear them, but I think the friendship ball was clearly in your court."

  "Seriously?"

  "I don’t know. Maybe not. I just can’t believe you’re friends with my sister. It’s weird, you know?"

  And it means I can’t tell you about Greg.

  How he makes me feel.

  Lisa sighed.

  "She’s a good person," said Brandy.

  "So I’ve heard all my life from anyone who’s ever met her. I stand by my original conviction. She hates me."

  "I think you’re too hard on Melanie."

  Lisa took a sip of her beer and stuck it in the sand, laying down on her back with a sigh. "How so?"

  "It’s like you want her to apologize for being nice to everybody."

  The sky overhead was blue without any clouds, the sun streaming down hot on Lisa’s skin. There was a certain truth to Brandy’s words that didn’t escape her understanding.

  Melanie was nice to everybody.

  Everybody except me.

  Brandy laid back on her towel. "You pissed at me now?"

  "She’s not nice to me, you know. She’s never been nice to me."