Lovestruck in Fortune's Bay: A Fortune's Bay Novella

by Joslyn Westbrook

  Chloe nearly collapsed right then and there, a tingling sensation gripping her from head to toe. “You have this funny way of making my heart feel like its dancing.”

  He licked his lips, honey-colored eyes drinking in hers. “My heart’s been a dancing machine since I laid eyes on you.” He swooped in, caressed her lips with his. Passionate. Molten-hot.

  A kiss that literally took her breath away.

  Chapter 20

  The kitchen lights momentarily twinkled off and on, a distraction that tugged Dylan and Chloe’s lips apart. It was nearly midnight, the time when Tropical Storm Amelia was to hit Fortune’s Bay the hardest. Gusts of wind howled, flapping around any debris in its path, while rain dropped like bullets against the house.

  “We’d better head back upstairs.” Dylan took her hand in his, led the way to his room, and when they walked in, he closed the door behind him. “What side of the bed do you prefer?” Dude, sleeping with her is a really bad idea. But, as per usual, Dylan ignored his righteous inner voice, even though he knew full well, sleeping next to Chloe Davenport, with her sexy—everything—would be like eating pizza without cheese—insane.

  She bit down on a fingernail, making him privy to her apprehension. “The one farthest from the window.”

  “Shall I build a divider separating one side of the bed from the other?” He walked over to the bed, began removing the mountain of decorative pillows.

  Chloe snickered, and joined him in the task at the opposite side of the bed. “That’s not necessary. We’re only going to sleep together. Besides, I didn’t shave my legs.”

  It was a comical revelation to Dylan, one he’d never heard before. “And what does that have to do with anything?” He watched her face light up, the curve slowly building up on the lips he wanted to taste again and again. Because kissing Chloe felt hypnotic, spellbinding, riveting. Like a body-sizzling, desire-inducing drug he could easily get hooked on for life.

  “It’s from the movie Return to Me. The main character was going on a first date with a hot guy and her sister told her not to shave her legs. I believe the exact words were, For your safety, don’t shave your legs because then you definitely won’t let it go too far. It’s one of my favorite advice lines in a movie.”

  They pulled the duvet back, folded it neatly across the foot of the bed, Chloe seemingly unfazed by the bedroom lamp flickering off and on.

  “Advice?” He pounced on his side of the bed, eyes flashing with amusement. “For the record, a guy wouldn’t be turned off by stubble on the legs.”

  Chloe stood over the bed, head cocked to the side, mouth turned up. “It has nothing at all to do with the guy.” She removed her slippers, eased into bed.

  Dylan turned on his side, elbow propped up on the pillow, cheek in palm. “Oh, I see. It’s your Personal Protection Plan.”

  Chloe let out an easy laugh as she turned to face him, head resting comfortably on her pillow, gorgeous lashes sweeping up and down. “That’s a fun way to describe it. My very own Personal Protection Plan. If I don’t shave my legs, that means there will be no heat between the sheets.” She pulled the cover up and over to her neck as she said it.

  “And when you do shave them?” His eyebrows lifted in hopeful curiosity.

  “Then, well, it means I’m ready to…”

  “Say no more. But don’t be surprised if one day I ask if you’ve shaved them.”

  The thunder was back, no doubt with a vengeance and this time Chloe let out a small screech.

  “This is probably the worst of it. Close your eyes, try to fall asleep, and before you know it, you’ll awaken to a storm-free morning.” Dylan leaned over and turned off the light on the bedside table.

  * * *

  As they lay there facing one another in the darkened room, rain fell, lightning bolted across the sky, and thunder clapped, as if giving praise to the storm. Dylan’s heart thumped, not because of the sounds of Amelia. No, that heart thump was all about the woman who ignited him, made him fully infused with life. Warm and fuzzy. God, was he turning into a Hallmark movie hero? Um, no. Not a Fifty-Shades hero either. It was, however, becoming apparent to himself, sleeping next to a woman he wanted, his body was beginning to throb for, would be harder than his failed task to stay away from her in the first place.

  “We still have two more questions left in our Ten Questions game.” Chloe’s assertion made him snicker.

  “You’re right. Wanna go first?”

  “Sure. You ready?”

  “Uh-huh…”

  “Why don’t you like to take photos anymore?”

  Why? Because he hated everything that reminded him of Cynthia and Dick. They slaughtered his passion. Robbed him of the life he built in Boston and he had yet to get back that gumption. Dylan swallowed the stiff lump in his throat. “Taking pictures somehow brings back memories of the life I fled.”

  Chloe reached over him, pulled the chain on the lamp to illuminate the room, sat up, legs crossed. “I get that it hurt. Catching them together. But, Dylan, please don’t let them win. You’re an amazing, talented photographer. And that talent has nothing at all to do with them.” She took his hand in hers, brought his knuckles to her lips, and kissed each one. Slowly. Almost methodically.

  Oh, God. The sensation made him want to pull her on top of him, taste those sweet lips all over again. Though doing so may be too abrupt, likely push her away—and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

  “Promise me you’ll think about it. Take up photography again.” She spoke soft yet demanding.

  He lifted his hand, caressed her face, and said, “I promise.” Then leaned over to the lamp, turned the light off again, and said, “Now, it’s my turn, then we need to get some sleep, okay?”

  “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “Have you decided what you’re going to do about your novel?”

  She laid her head back down on the pillow and sighed. “I’m staying true to myself. Keeping it sweet. I’ll just deal with my editor and publisher when the time comes.”

  He respected her decision of not giving into anything out of her comfort zone. Remaining true to her readers. True to herself. Something he hadn’t done since he abandoned photography. “I’m glad to hear that. Happy you’re deciding to, do you.”

  The silence between them almost drowned out the storm. Kiss her good-night. But he was afraid if he did, he’d want more. Any man would, not just the one who realized he was falling victim to the love bug.

  “Dylan, can you hold me?”

  It was an unexpected request, one he wasn’t confident could be fulfilled. Holding Chloe would draw her closer to him, and could probably result in his hands all over her—shaved legs or not. “I, uh, am not sure…”

  “I’ve never been held before. I don’t know how it feels to fall asleep in a man’s arms.”

  Dude, how can you say no to that?

  “All right. But you have to promise to control yourself. That Personal Protection Plan of yours doesn’t include a Dylan Hawke warranty.”

  She laughed, moved closer, allowing Dylan to swoop his arm around her, as she positioned her head on his chest. “What’s your Personal Protection Plan?”

  “I don’t have one, Chloe, so this will likely be harder for me than it is for you.” In fact, it was hard for him to not give into the temptation to kiss her lips, move down to her collarbone, run his fingers along her soft skin, eventually making love all through the night.

  “We can be like the couple, Eva and Josh, from book four in my series, who had to share a bed when there was a hotel-room-mix up. And since they were attracted to each other, it was a long, long night of fighting the persuasion of giving into desire.”

  “Believe me, I can relate.” Dylan let a gentle laugh escape him as he ran his fingers through her hair. “But we’re not the hero and heroine of one of your novels…are we?” He kissed her forehead, rubbed her shoulder as she snuggled closer to him, her fingers grazing his chest.

  “You never kn
ow, we could very well be a love story in the making.”

  For Dylan, there was no denying that.

  When morning arrived, and Chloe was still nestled in his arms, Dylan smiled to himself, pleased he made it through the night. It was a first for him, sleeping with a woman he was attracted to. Yet, it wasn’t as bad as he imagined it would be. Of course they’d kissed—actually, full-on made out—for a long while, before drifting off to sleep. But to simply hold Chloe, was soothing, and for some reason, made him feel closer to her. And to watch her fast asleep in his arms, Dylan felt a sense of elation, comfort, nothing like he’d ever known. The look on her face, calm, without a care in the world, gave him an idea.

  Slipping out of bed, careful not to wake her, Dylan grabbed his camera bag off the desk. The memory of Chloe’s words don’t let them win, was on replay in his head.

  She was right.

  Aiming the camera lens at his new inspiration, Dylan snapped photos of Chloe as she slept. Tousled hair. Full lips. Lush lashes. Sprinkles of freckles adorning her flawless face.

  Click. Click. Click.

  He was falling fast for this woman, and God, how he hoped, she was falling with him.

  Chapter 21

  The clicking sound of the camera jostled Chloe out of her sleep. What is he doing?

  She fought the urge to laugh, covered her face with a pillow. “Did you snap pics of me while I was asleep, Dylan Hawke?”

  He sat at the foot of the bed, snapped a few more photos, even though she now pulled the pillow over her head. “Yup.” He laid the camera beside him on the bed. “I couldn’t resist your beautiful face.”

  She chuckled, threw the pillow at him. “When I said you shouldn’t give up photography, I didn’t mean for you to take photos of me.”

  “Well, I had to begin somewhere.” He winked, then tickled her foot. “The storm’s over and I thought I’d head back home, get some shots of the sky over the water. Can I borrow the Prius? I’ll be back to get you in about an hour.”

  Chloe sat up, rubbed her eyes. “Can I come with you? I’d love to watch you in action.”

  The two got dressed, packed up, then said their goodbyes to Samantha and Liam who were still acting as though they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

  “Leave the shop closed until tomorrow, Sam. Take the day off to rest…or whatever it is you and Liam do. I’m sure with the storm passing, everyone will be busy cleaning up anyway.”

  Samantha nodded, tied her robe closed as she stood beside Liam on the porch, seeing them off.

  “Thanks again for having me,” Chloe said, hugging Samantha, then Liam. “You two are lovely and inspiring. I’m certain, parts of your story will no doubt end up in my book, one way or another.”

  Samantha squealed and Chloe could have sworn Liam did too. “Feel free to use our real names,” Samantha called out as Chloe scrambled to the car.

  As Dylan drove back to his house by the bay, Chloe peered out the window, taking in the aftermath of the storm. Fallen trees. Fallen trash cans. Scattered debris. Just a few things he navigated by on the road leading up to Main Street. The usual lively town seemed wounded by Amelia, down for the count, with not one person in sight. “Where is everyone?”

  “Some may have left. Others may be home, getting ready to clear out any damage left by Amelia.” He squeezed her hand, glanced over, his eyes, his voice reassuring. “I’m glad it wasn’t as bad or as long as expected.”

  Chloe was glad too, even more that they were able to ride the short storm out together, the memory of last night sending a surge of warm and fuzzies to her heart. Who would have thought she’d develop strong feelings for a man who named his sexy motorcycle, Tamale, of all things?

  They drove by Destiny’s Brew, noticed everything was still intact, then continued on to the house, and as they approached, Dylan let out what seemed to be a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. It’s still standing.”

  Chloe sighed in relief too, because even though it had been less than a week, it very much felt like home.

  “Come on, Miss Davenport, let’s get some pictures.”

  The view of the ocean, contrasted by the sunlit horizon, poking through a wall of clouds, was sublime to Chloe’s eyes—never having seen either after a mighty storm. And as she stood by him on the sand, she couldn’t think of anyone better to experience it with. “It’s breathtaking, Dylan.”

  He was breathtaking. Watching him snap photos, the man was on fire, all smiles, as if he’d just been granted the chance to turn over a new leaf. Perhaps she had, too. Taking risks, like asking to sleep with a man she’d known for only a few days, and falling asleep in his arms, as though she’d known him forever. Fact was, Dylan Hawke gave her more than anyone named Walter ever could have. Comfort. Security. An appetite for more. True they’d slept most of the night—him holding her close—yet their innocent smooch good-night, transformed into a lengthy make-out session of the century. Soft kisses became sensual, hot, passionate, and when he pressed his muscle-ripped body on top of hers, Chloe thought for sure she’d toss out her Personal Protection Plan, let it get washed away with the storm. It was Dylan, however, who kept them on track, a husky whisper in her ear, “Miss Davenport, we’d better slow down before our made-for-TV kiss turns into a full-fledged Fifty Shades of naughty.” The recollection made her giggle, her heart leap as if she were lost in that moment again. Dylan was more of a gentleman than she’d imagined…he was the type of man she dreamed of growing old with. The realization had Chloe wondering if deciding to come to Fortune’s Bay to write her next book had everything to do with her discovering her own destiny. Don’t be silly, Chloe. She was hard on herself, unwilling to accept she could have possibly found someone dreamier than a made-up hero who existed only in her books.

  “A penny for your thoughts?” Chloe was so far off into la-la land, she didn’t realize Dylan had been taking photos of her.

  Her face flushed as he drew near. “Oh, I’m sorry…I was just thinking about my novel.” A novel she had only weeks left to write.

  “How about I make you some breakfast, then you head to your place and write. I may take Tamale out for a ride, get more photos.”

  The thought of them parting, even for a few hours, gave her an empty feeling in the pit of her hungry-for-breakfast stomach. “How about we prepare breakfast together, then I join you for that ride?”

  He pulled her into his arms, brushed her lips with his. “You read my mind.”

  Hours later, Chloe could sense the sarcasm seething from Libby’s voice.

  “Did you survive the tropical storm?”

  She hadn’t been back in her apartment for thirty minutes before her editor called with questions. As usual, Chloe rolled her eyes as she breathed a sigh into the phone. “Obviously. I’ve answered my phone, right?”

  “Uh, yeah. So, how’s the novel coming along? Have you been busy hitting the keys?”

  Not really. The words Chloe had poured onto the page last night were the first since the draft of chapter one. And because she’d spent the entire day outdoors with Dylan, she hadn’t contributed a single word more. “It’s coming along just fine. I was able to find some inspiration. The town is full of such vibrant people and Dylan took me around town today—”

  “Wait. Dylan? As in Dylan Hawke…your landlord?” Libby’s tone was raised about fifteen-hundred octaves.

  “Oh, well yeah, I actually forgot he’s the landlord.” All the hours spent with him, Dylan had become so much more than a mere someone she was renting the duplex from.

  “Is he hot?”

  Hottest man alive. The question made her feel dizzy; thoughts of just how hot Dylan Hawke truly was, bombarded her mind like grenades. But she dared not reveal anything personal to Libby. Not yet, anyway. “So, did you really call to check on me, or only to fish for information on the progress of the book?” Asking that seemed ridiculous, given Chloe already knew the answer.

  “Honestly, both. However, I can tell you’re not in the mood
to fess up. But remember our agreement. In less than seven days from now, you’ll need to submit at least twenty-five percent to me.”

  Chloe wondered why she agreed to that. Especially since she only had roughly three chapters written—and even those words weren’t guaranteed to make the final cut. “Talk to you soon, Libby.”

  After about thirty minutes of lying on the couch, gaze stuck to the ceiling, Chloe decided to write. It was after all, the reason why she was back in her rental, instead of with Dylan. After their ride around town, he’d picked up some takeout for her to eat later, and had insisted she get some writing done, in the place that would provide her the least distraction. Which would have been a smart decision, in theory. If that theory worked, that is.

  The only thing her mind could focus on…was Dylan. Their afternoon out, riding about Fortune’s Bay. Clinging to, who she really should refer to as the real-life-book-hero, while she sat nestled against his backside, aboard Tamale. Dylan was the ideal tour guide, showing Chloe parts of Fortune’s Bay she didn’t see on the map she got from the community center, stopping for photo ops at just about every point that caught Dylan’s eye: Sea Dog Pier, the statue of She Pirate and Her Love. And when they arrived at a small pier closer to home, from a distance he pointed out the four islands: Swallow, Sparrow, Shipwreck, and Shelter—where Rosedale Hotel sat.

  “When I arrived in Fortune’s Bay, I wanted to stay there instead of the duplex. But Libby insisted I’d be happier at the rental,” Chloe explained, wrapped snug in Dylan’s arms.

  “And was she right? Are you happy you decided to rent my place on the beach? I know I’m sure happy you did.” He kissed her forehead, embraced her tighter, as if he didn’t want to let her go. She confessed to being happier than ever, which led them to partake in another make-out session, waves crashing in the background.