Seagrove Secrets

by Melissa Chambers

  “I didn’t put on makeup,” she said. “Or do anything to my hair.”

  “I thought you were intentionally going with the wet look.”

  She shrugged her response.

  “What goes better with enchiladas, red or white?” he asked.

  “Green?” she said, and then pulled a bottle out of the refrigerator. “Do you do margaritas?”

  “Does a lime grow on a tree?”

  “Is on the rocks okay? Or I think you can put this in the blender with ice.”

  “On the rocks. Extra salt. I’ve got some in here somewhere,” he said, and then pulled a container of margarita salt out of the pantry. “I’ve got glasses too, I think.”

  “They’re in your dining room buffet.”

  “How do you know this and I don’t?”

  “I saw them in there the other day when you were showing me your wine collection.” He walked in there and came back with two glasses. She got a little paranoid. “I wasn’t in here snooping when you were gone. I only came in here last night to drop off the groceries for tonight.”

  “I don’t care,” he said.

  “I’m serious,” she said.

  He poured water into the rim of the container. “I am, too. You want salt?”

  “No.”

  “That’s just not right. You have to have salt with a margarita. We need crushed ice with these.”

  She held a cup up to the refrigerator to get crushed ice. “Your fancy ice won’t work with this?”

  “Too big for this shallow glass.”

  She walked over to where he was standing and poured ice into the two glasses. He didn’t move out of the way, so she was right up next to him. She took a whiff of him, freshly out of the shower. He smelled like expensive men’s body wash, woodsy and fresh.

  She stepped away. “Did you know you had a slow cooker?”

  “I vaguely remember my assistant purchasing me one with my own credit card and printing out some recipes for me.”

  “Have you ever used it?” she asked.

  He handed her the salt-free glass with an apologetic look. “Will you hold it against me if I say no?”

  She took the glass. “Cheers.”

  “To what?” he asked.

  “New cars, new apartments, new friends.”

  He smiled. “Cheers.” They both sipped. “Damn,” he said, looking at the glass. “What brand is that? It’s good. Not real sweet.”

  They both glanced at the bottle. “I took a risk,” she said.

  He looked down at her. “Worked out well.” She bit her lip and went back to the slow cooker, finishing her layering. “It’s all in there?” Chase asked.

  “Yep. Is that okay? Or are you one of these visual eaters? ‘Cause this might come out looking a mess, but I promise it’ll taste good.”

  “I’m not picky…when it comes to food, that is.”

  She sprinkled cheese on top of her creation. “Where are you picky?”

  He stood next to her, keeping a little distance, resting his ass on the island. “I’m picky about women.”

  “That’s not what I hear.”

  “I’ve been unfairly categorized.”

  “How’s it unfair when it’s true?” she asked.

  “You don’t know it’s true,” he said.

  “It doesn’t matter what I think anyway.”

  He tugged on her shorts at the hip. “It does.”

  A surge of electricity shot through her at his touch. She cut her eyes at him. “Drink your margarita.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She turned the slow cooker on high and covered it. “If you’re hungry now I’ve got chips and salsa.”

  He held up his margarita glass. “I’m good with just this, and your company, of course.”

  She let out a huff of air and set her gaze on him. “Mmm hmm.”

  He lifted his margarita to his mouth. “I’m drinking my margarita.”

  “You’re up to no good.”

  “How do you know?”

  She pointed at his mouth. “That smile is how I know.”

  “You started it.”

  She widened her eyes. “I did not.”

  “Yes you did…at the airport.”

  She picked up the empty cheese pouch and tossed it in the trash can. “I had a momentary lapse of reason.”

  “You missed me,” he said.

  She gave him a look. “I don’t even know you.”

  “That’s not a denial,” he said.

  She picked up the empty can of beans and rinsed it out. “Where are your recycle bins?”

  “In the pantry.”

  Of course she knew that, but she was trying to say anything to avoid the mess she’d dug herself into. She walked over there and tossed the can away. When she turned around, he was standing there against his island, rubbing his freshly shaven chin. She rolled her eyes.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Is this how you do it? Lure women into your kitchen, pump them with alcohol then stand there and look cute?”

  He held his hand out to the side. “Hey, you’re the one who had the margarita chilling in the fridge. And come to think of it, it was your idea to cook me dinner. So who lured who?”

  She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I’m a real idiot sometimes.”

  “For doing what?”

  “Nothing,” she said, picking up her glass.

  “I’ll have you know that I didn’t go to one strip club when I was in Vegas.”

  She widened her eyes. “Seriously? Not one? Where’s this guy’s gold star?”

  “I’m serious. All the other guys went, and I stayed at the pool.”

  “Oh, what torture. You, stuck at a Vegas pool. All those bachelorette parties and shot girls walking around. Bless your heart.”

  “I’m serious about this. They all made fun of me. Said I was pussy whipped and I don’t even have a girlfriend. That was hard to explain.”

  She narrowed her gaze at him. “I hope you didn’t hold back in Vegas because of me, because if you did you shouldn’t have.”

  He squinted one eye. “I didn’t, but for the sake of argument, let’s say I did. What harm did I do? Saved myself from a potential STD?”

  She sipped her margarita, looking him in the eye. “I told you I would stay out of your hair here. I don’t want you holding back dating someone because of me.”

  “Maybe I’m tired of dating,” he said and then took her glass and set it on the counter. “Maybe I like you.”

  Her stomach flip-flopped like a fish being reeled in from the ocean. She shook her head. “Not a good idea.”

  He turned his body toward hers, resting his hand on her hip. “What’s not?”

  She gave him a look, her heartbeat pounding.

  He leaned down. “Me kissing you?” he whispered, and her knees almost gave way.

  “Mmm hmm,” she said, watching his mouth get closer.

  “Should I stop?” he asked, his thumb pressing into her hip.

  She opened her mouth, but the word no wouldn’t form. She closed her eyes as his lips met hers, and her heartbeat soared off the charts. His lips were soft but firm, in control, but she somehow knew she was still in charge. All she had to do was say no, but she couldn’t.

  Salty and sweet from the margarita, his lips pressed against hers as she ran her fingers through his wavy hair, pushing his head toward her, forcing her own back while he leaned down farther into her. She wanted his tongue, but that was too much, wasn’t it? This was a trial kiss. A one-off. A margarita-fueled tryout, though they hadn’t even finished their first drink.

  The doorbell rang and she ripped herself away from him, her heartrate spiking. And then she remembered.

  “Fuck,” he said.

  She rubbed her forehead. “It might be Bo, coming for Jake.”

  “Goddamn Bo,” Chase said, and she couldn’t agree more.

  Chase went to answer the door, and when she heard Bo’s voice, she headed to the pool house to
gather all Jake’s stuff. When she got back to the kitchen with the load, Bo walked in, looking around at the margarita glasses.

  She went back out to the pool area and called Jake. He came running over, tail wagging. She bent down to pet him, getting his belly like he liked. “I’m going to miss you,” she said, and her heart broke a little, even though she could see him anytime she wanted. Jake had helped her through these past couple of months. She wasn’t sure what she would have done without him.

  She patted the wetness that was starting at the corner of her eye and stood as the back door opened. Could Bo not see she was having a moment with the damn dog?

  Jake’s tail went nuts when he saw Bo, his tongue all hanging out while Bo knelt down and the two of them had a reunion like long lost brothers. Bo looked up at her. “Thank you for keeping him all this time.”

  She stuck her hands in her pockets. “Mmm hmm.”

  Bo narrowed his gaze. “Are you crying?”

  “No,” she said, scrunching up her face like he was an idiot.

  “Did you want to keep him?” The look on his face begged her to say no as Jake nuzzled his head into Bo’s chest.

  “No. I’m renting here. I can’t take on a dog.”

  Bo just stared at her, stroking Jake’s fur like he wasn’t sure what to do.

  “Go on. Get him home. He’s been whining for you every night.”

  “Really?” Bo asked, smiling down at the stupid dog. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, walking back inside to locate her margarita. “Where’s he been sleeping over here?” Bo asked, following her.

  This was a question she was not prepared to answer. “He likes a tree outside.”

  “At night?”

  “No, not at night,” she said.

  “Then where’s he been sleeping at night?” She cocked her head to the side, lips pursed. Bo shut his eyes. “Goddammit. You’ve had him in the bed with you, haven’t you? I told you not to do that.”

  “Not every night,” she lied.

  Bo knelt down again, taking Jake’s cheeks into his hands. “You can’t do that at home, buddy. I’ve got a girl in the bed now.”

  Shayla looked at Chase for the joke, and he held up both hands. “I didn’t say a word.”

  Bo stood, looking around. “What’s this, margarita night?”

  “Yep,” Shayla said.

  Bo looked between the two of them. “I like margaritas.”

  “I hear they’ve got good ones at Chili’s in PCB,” Chase said, and Shayla smiled.

  “Is this a date? Am I interrupting?” Bo asked, not sorry.

  “Yeah,” Chase said, pulling Shayla to his side. “We were just getting ready to take a bubble bath.”

  Bo shook his head. “I give up on the two of you. I’m going to get him home.”

  “Make him take you out for a margarita. Have you unloaded the truck yet?” Chase asked, letting go of Shayla.

  “Already done.”

  “Glad I waited to ask,” Chase said.

  Bo eyed the two of them. “Is this happening, for real?”

  “No, you dipwad,” Shayla said. “But you’re ruining my buzz.”

  “All right,” Bo said, gathering Jake’s stuff. Shayla grabbed the bag of food and headed toward the truck with Bo and Jake.

  “Hey, thanks again for letting Maya use your car,” Bo said.

  Shayla had taken it and gotten a Florida tag put on it before she’d passed it to Maya, just in case Brian decided to make a pop-in visit to town. She’d also stuck a plate of a sailing symbol on the front. She’d never sailed a day in her life. “Sure.”

  “I’ll have it at work for you tomorrow so you can drive it home.”

  She hauled the bag of food into the truck bed. “When are you coming back to work?”

  “Monday. I need to take tomorrow and the weekend to help get Maya settled.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He tossed Jake’s stuff into the back of the truck. “You ready to have me back or dreading it?”

  “Little of both,” she said.

  He pulled her into his arms and hugged her to him. “I’ve missed you.”

  She let him hold her a second, and then pulled away. “You’ll be sick of me by Tuesday.”

  “Probably,” he said with a grin, and then his smile faded. “What’s been going on this week with the house? Have you let your ex know to find somewhere else to live?”

  A quick online search told Shayla she needed to provide written notice via certified mail. She’d do that after the wedding. She didn’t want to rock any boats before then. “Yep,” she said, because she had told him that on the phone Sunday night. She just hadn’t made it official with the letter yet. “I’m giving him thirty days to get out.”

  “Then you’ll list it?” he asked.

  “I don’t want to risk putting it on the market while he’s there, having dirty underwear laying around while people come to see it.”

  He looked pissed. “That son of a bitch. Blake and I should have stopped by there on our way back here.”

  “Like a couple of thugs? That sounds productive.”

  He pointed at her. “If he’s not out in thirty days, I’m going back there.”

  “Fine,” she said, knowing she’d never let on if Brian wasn’t gone by then. This was her problem and she would work it out on her own.

  She headed back inside to Chase, resetting her brain. Nothing like having a really great first kiss interrupted by a brother with an attitude. She supposed she deserved that. She had no right kissing Chase to begin with. She was doing a terrible job of keeping this whole thing cool and friendly.

  She walked back into the kitchen to find Chase sitting on a barstool, his back against the island, knees falling out to the sides. Damn he was a lot of man.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I saw the way you looked at Jake. You’re gonna miss him.”

  She glanced off to the side, shaking her head like it was nothing.

  “You want to go get another one?”

  “No,” she said with a chuckle. “I’m doing well to take care of myself these days.” It was true. She’d been too afraid to take Jake on a walk. She’d just thrown him the ball in the backyard. That wasn’t a way for a dog to live. She might get a dog for herself, but not until all this was settled with Brian.

  “You gonna be okay to sleep alone?” he asked. She gave him a look, letting him know not to even go there. He smiled, looking down at his margarita. “Well, one thing’s for sure, Bo cares about his sister.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I care about him, too. I just wish he’d back off a little sometimes.”

  “Why do you think he’s so protective?”

  She pulled her top lip into her mouth and then let it go, sitting down on the barstool on the other side of the island, putting some space between them. “He’s a little more protective than usual. He stopped in and saw my ex on his way down here.”

  He turned around and faced her. “I heard.”

  Shayla lifted an eyebrow. “How much?”

  “That your ex had been to rehab.”

  She shook her head. “My mouthy brother.”

  “I’m glad he told me. I want to help, if that’s possible.”

  “I’m all set,” she said.

  “So he’s still in your house?” Chase asked.

  “Damn Bo.”

  “He thinks you might be considering taking the guy back,” Chase said.

  “Well he’s wrong, I can promise you that.”

  Chase nodded. “I really didn’t think that was the case.”

  “How come?” she asked.

  “Because you seem like a decisive person. Scares me a little, actually.”

  “Why’s that?”

  He shrugged. “You seem like you’re the one in control of your life, of your relationships. I imagine when you decide one’s over, it’s over.”

  She blinked, trying to figure o
ut how to take that comment. She couldn’t feel less in control now if she tried.

  “Tell me about this house of yours back in Nashville,” he said.

  “Franklin, it’s a suburb of Nashville.”

  “So it’s your house, not his?”

  “Yeah, I bought it before I knew him, but he’s been helping pay the mortgage since he moved in.”

  “How long did you have it before he came in the picture?”

  She thought about it. “I bought it when I first moved there about four years ago.”

  “And when did he move in?”

  “About a year and a half ago. I don’t even care if takes the damn thing. I just want to be separated from him.”

  “He’s not taking your house,” Chase said.

  Shayla stared down at her glass, trying to understand for the thousandth time how she got herself into this mess.

  “Then I’ll pay him back for the months he paid.”

  “Why? He lived there, didn’t he?”

  “With the assumption that we were going to get married and it’d be his someday, too.”

  “You were engaged?”

  “Not officially. We talked about it a lot at first, much less after he started drinking.”

  “Look, Shayla, things changed. He didn’t hold up his end of the bargain. He turned into a liability for you, not someone who you could build a life with.”

  She met his gaze, wondering why he hadn’t wanted to build a life with anyone else since his divorce. She tabled that thought. “I just can’t stand to feel like I owe someone.”

  His eyebrows went up. “Owe him? You think you owe him?”

  She shook her head, standing up. “This is why I don’t talk to people about stuff like this. You don’t understand.”

  “Then explain it to me.”

  “He thinks he held up his end of the bargain. We had a deal that I agreed to because I was…”

  She caught herself. What was she doing? She couldn’t spill her guts to this guy about how she’d coerced him into going to that specific rehab because she couldn’t handle the guilt of turning him over to some other unsuspecting woman who would unknowingly start this whole mad cycle over again. How many women would have to go through the same shit with this same guy? This program was supposed to be effective. If she could offer him the hope of reconciliation if he went through it, then at least he’d go, and there was a chance of ending the cycle.