Tides of Hope: It's Never Too Late For Second Chances (A Nantucket Island Romance Book 1)

by Dawn Tomasko

  He cast a sympathetic glance in the dog's direction. Lazily, she scratched under her chin. "Dogs are carnivores, babe. What dog doesn't want bacon? What's dog food made of? Cereal, for crying out loud. She's a T-Rex, and we're feeding her Cheerios."

  Charlotte laughed. "I give up. If she throws up, you're on clean-up detail. Listen, I've been thinking a lot about Sara and how important this is for her."

  "I'm done reading the paper, aren't I?” he asked in a deep, sexy tone that never failed to rev her engine. Neither of them had to be anywhere this morning. A little fun between the sheets sounded perfect.

  He folded up the paper and grinned as he set it next to his plate. With a scrape along the floor, he pushed his chair back and motioned to her. Bouncing out of her seat, she settled on his lap, facing him, and gave a little wiggle. His strong arms hugged her waist to anchor her in place. Warm kisses showered her forehead, cheek, and the sensitive spot behind her ear.

  "Babe, this is good for her,” he murmured as he nibbled the smooth skin at the base of her neck. “She's a grown woman and Gabe can take care of himself. Let it happen the way it's supposed to."

  Hands kneading his strong shoulders, Charlotte tilted her head to let him give him better access. "In my head, I know you're right, but in my heart? Gary, I don't know. I care about her so much.”

  "We both do. She's family. Gabe's a good man. If they don't get along, I'm sure they're adult enough to deal with each other until the job's done.” Long, lean fingers stroked up and down the tops of her toned thighs.

  Charlotte rubbed the back of his warm neck. The ends of his hair could use a trim, but she rather liked it this way. "Maybe they don't dislike each other. Maybe it's something else.”

  "Huh,” he marveled, leaned back, considered her words. Then he smiled. "That could be cool. It could be fun to watch that pot cook."

  Chapter Six

  "What the hell?"

  The sun didn't wake Sara, but the whack of a sledgehammer against the porch did. The whole damn house shook. She whipped back the sheets and stumbled to the window. With a hand, she shoved her hair out of her face to look down at the front yard. Long beams of wood angled to shore up the porch, and Gabriel swung at the existing posts to knock them loose.

  "Hey!” she yelled down at him. Along with temper, a shimmer of arousal rippled through her. His dark head adorned by the ever-present baseball cap swung along with his heavily muscled arms, followed through on the long swing of the hammer. Between whacks of the hammer and the music pouring from his Bluetooth speaker, he didn't hear her. The sight of wide, heavily muscled shoulders, a trim waist tapered into work jeans, and sturdy thighs made her swallow hard.

  "Holy cow,” she whispered, fascinated. Never in her life had she considered meaningless sex, but at this moment, the urge ran wild and hot. They could go down to the water, strip off each other’s clothes, and run into the surf, limbs tangled and mouths fused. Sharp fingernails dug into her palms as she imagined running her hands over his wet skin, exploring every nuance of well-developed muscle. Maybe she could make an exception just this once.

  Warmth flooded between her legs, and she reached up to swipe a sheen of moisture from her upper lip. Areas of her body ached, having nothing to do with the labor she’d been putting into the house. What was the matter with her? Lack of caffeine, she decided. Yes, that was it, along with a rude awakening from his damn sledgehammer.

  Who the hell was she kidding? “Damn it.” She spun from the window, slipped into black yoga shorts and a pink t-shirt, then stomped down to the kitchen to start the coffee. On real need, she made a full pot. Now, in addition to being exhausted, she was turned on. Tired, restless and full of pent up sexual energy was not the way to start the day.

  Last night's phone call with Brianna and subsequent hang up by her daughter left Sara hollowed out. In an attempt to find answers, her mind started its usual unproductive cycle, replaying their conversation over and over. Sleep became impossible. She tried a bath, read a book, drank chamomile tea, but sleep wouldn't come. This morning, her weary limbs and dull headache resembled a gritty hangover, now tinged with fury and a hunger that would go unsatisfied, thanks to Donovan. First on the list was a boat load of caffeine.

  Anger and arousal still simmering, she opened the front door between swings of the sledgehammer.

  Gabriel glanced up at her, gave a nod. "Hey.” He rested his arm on the handle of the hammer. Sweat glistened on his arms. Appreciation glinted in his eyes as they took slow cruise down her body. Really? Could he not tell how mad, and turned on, she was? The dark blue of his eyes fanned simmer onto boil. Since she still wanted to tear his clothes off, her anger cranked up a few notches. Hands on her hips, she asked frostily, "May I ask what you're doing?"

  Gabe scratched his head, gave a crooked, sexy grin. She'd like to taste that smart mouth, the full curve of his lips, tug with her teeth…"Good morning to you, too."

  Be professional, Sara. Maintain distance. "Mr. Donovan—”

  "Mr. Donovan? Seriously?” he interrupted, eyes alight with mischief. "Ms. Shepard, you may have made the wrong career choice. Ever think of being a school teacher or a librarian?"

  Annoyed, she shook her head in disbelief. The cocky grin on his face made her fingernails dig into her palms. Pompous ass! "Excuse me?"

  "When you say 'Mr. Donovan' it makes me think of my father.” In a slow stroll, he walked up the stairs, stamped his feet to loosen dirt and sand from his boots. "Can we dispense with the formality? We're going to spend a lot of time in each other's company, at least until we finish the house.”

  Chest pains. Now she had chest pains! She rubbed the flat of her hand against the ache in her breastbone. "Gabriel,” she tossed out in an offended tone, struggling to catch her breath, "What did you mean by your comment about my job? Neither profession appeals to me."

  "Odd.”

  Was there no limit to his ability to frustrate her? She itched to grab the sledgehammer and smash him with the thing. "What’s ‘odd’?"

  His intelligent eyes danced, the sparkle there downright devilish. "Sometimes you're such a tight-ass I figured you must be a teacher or a librarian. Don't get me wrong, I've met some fun-loving teachers and librarians."

  Tight ass? Oh, the man pushed her buttons deliberately! Heat crept up her neck and Sara clenched her teeth until her jaw ached. "Oh, I bet you have, you son of a bitch. There's probably a long list of women who would be only too happy to—” she choked off, shocked at what she intended to say.

  "Damn straight.” He split a grin, his white teeth a stark contrast to his tanned skin. He planted his hands on his hips and jerked his chin in her direction. After a wriggle of his shoulders, he teased, "You need to loosen up a little."

  Like a flag waved in front of a bull, damned if she didn't see red. "Don't tell me what I need to do!” She took three steps toward him and pointed a long finger up at his face. "Look, pal, I didn't sleep much last night. The last thing I needed is to wake up to you trying to knock the damned porch down!"

  "Such language! I’ll have you know, it's seven o'clock in the morning, which is the start of my workday, “ Gabriel's eyes narrowed, glittered dangerously, "and don't point your finger at me. It's not polite."

  "You want to give me lessons on manners? You called me a tight ass!” The way he stared at her finger, he might sink his teeth into it. A wild thought rose up in her mind that it might be exciting to find out if he would. Curling her fists, she put them down to her sides. "Here you are, early in the morning, swaggering around, loud enough to wake the dead. You are a complete pain in the ass!” To her total shock, her voice reached near scream level. The muscles of her legs trembled. God, she never lost control like this. Never.

  He tossed his dark head back and laughed. "Well, at least, you're honest."

  After that, she muttered a filthy word she never used, well, almost never. While he choked on his laughter, Sara spun into the house and slammed the door. Then, she flipped the lock. On h
er way to the coffee pot, she heard another whack of the hammer. A picture fell off the wall and crashed into the hardwood. Broken glass littered the floor. Out came the filthy word again. Gabriel Donovan brought out the worst in her.

  "Did I break something?” he called in, his concerned face pressed against the screen of the front window. She had no intention of keeping the picture, she hated it, but he didn't need to know it. God help her, she wanted to punch him in the face right through the screen.

  "No, what made you think so?” she inquired sweetly, then turned back to scoop coffee in the filter. A bark of laughter shot through the window, and before long the house shuddered on the next whack.

  Maybe somewhere along the way, she'd lost her sense of humor. Or her mind. Donovan sure as hell seemed to find humor in everything. Right now she'd love to give him a hard kick in the pants. The ones presently molded to his incredible ass. Staring blindly out the kitchen window to the backyard, she sucked down two cups of coffee and lots of deep breaths. Then she headed upstairs for a long, hot shower. Rather than fuss with her hair, she tossed it in a ponytail. She had to get the hell out of here before she either did him bodily harm or ripped his clothes off to find out if she could rock his world the way he currently shook hers.

  Fully loaded with caffeine and now clean, the day seemed a tiny bit better. A twinge of guilt pinched her for losing her cool. With David, he'd been away more than at home, and her time and independence meant everything to her, so she didn't have to deal with him often. Historically, Sara’s role in all situations was that of peacemaker. Rocking the boat, arguments, disagreements? She avoided such entanglements. So how the hell did a mild-mannered mother, former wife and compassionate nurse end up a shrew?

  Had she been unfair to Donovan? They shared this project, but it didn't need to be more than that. Did she need to be nasty? After all, he had a job to do.

  Maybe their personalities didn't mesh. Bad chemistry. They didn't know each other and Charlotte employed him. When he finished, he would move on to his next project. Maybe they'd both get lucky, and it would be on the other side of the island. As she continued to rationalize, she headed down the stairs. A knock at the door made her frown.

  "Now what?” she mumbled. Maybe she'd slip out the back door and head down Madaket Road and catch the NRTA bus to Town. A little shopping, a walk on along the wharves, some distance might help her regain balance, smooth out her mood.

  After a flip of the lock, she swung the door open. If for no other reason than to please Charlotte, she would try to be nice. "Yes?” she beamed, a bit too hard.

  In barely suppressed amusement, his lips twitched. "Can I use the bathroom?"

  "Come on in,” she sighed and stepped back, but not far enough. His rigid arm rubbed against her breast. Right away her traitorous body responded to his, and she sucked in a breath. How she wanted his hands on her, firm and exploring.

  A scant inch away from her, he stared down at her chest, then into her confused eyes. "Sorry,” came the apology in a voice both soft and thick.

  Speechless at the spread of heat his touched caused, she bit her bottom lip. By the intense look he gave her, she could tell he wasn't sorry at all. Or unaffected. Mercifully, he moved along. To keep busy while he was in the bathroom, she headed for more coffee and then decided against it. Caffeine overload would grate her revved up nerves like nails on a chalkboard. However, she pulled another mug from the cabinet.

  Their relationship, if it could be called one, was different from anything she'd experienced. In a flash of self-realization, too many of her tangled up emotions spilled over to the nearest target. Yes, he did deliberately goad her, but still.

  In her defense, he knew how to get a rise out of her, and he enjoyed it. Keenly intuitive, he noticed details David never would, nuances in her mood and body language. She needed to put up shields, be more careful. The keen attention he paid to his work, and to her, was uncharted territory.

  Gabriel came out into the kitchen.

  "Coffee?” she offered.

  "Yeah, sure,” he accepted, a wary inflection in his voice. No doubt his head spun from her rapid change of mood. The natural humor he carried with him hummed underneath.

  "How do you like it?” Sara asked.

  The air between them electrified. "How do you like it?"

  "What?"

  He sauntered a few steps closer. Now, what game did he play? "When a woman asks a man a question like that—"

  "Your coffee, Donovan. Do you want to drink it or wear it?” she gritted out.

  "Black will be okay,” his voice rumbled. In spite of the hour and the fresh morning breeze, sweat dotted his face. Damp from exertion, the ends of his hair curled. "You make a good cup of coffee."

  "Thanks.” Ravenous for sex and food, she started breakfast since she could do something about one of them. After a few deep breaths, calm descended. "So the posts couldn't be salvaged."

  "No, but we knew that. Sara, I am sorry I woke you,” he offered, his mouth tilted up in one corner, and he leaned his hip on the counter.

  "I apologize for flying off the handle,” she grumbled, and she dropped an English muffin in the toaster.

  Amusement played on his face. "That's the most insincere apology I've ever heard."

  "What the hell do you want from me?” Silverware rattled as she yanked the drawer open and dug around for a butter knife. The door slammed shut with a sharp bang.

  "Why couldn't you sleep?"

  "How's your hand?" she countered.

  There were getting nowhere fast. He cocked an eyebrow, then held up his hand, its makeshift bandage, unlike the one she'd wrapped for him. "I left it uncovered last night, but I wanted to keep it clean today."

  "That's the worst bandage I've ever seen,” she told him, perversely pleased to shoot his words back at him.

  "Touché. Do you talk to all your patients like that?"

  Lightning quick, her head spun in his direction. "Are you trying to get hurt?"

  His head tipped back, and the man proceeded to laugh until he wiped a tear from his eyes. Sara fingered the butter knife and fantasized about how much damage she could do with it.

  "That's some bedside manner you have, lady."

  Mind still on a nice sharp knife blade, she smiled grimly. "I reserve it for 'special' patients like you.” The madder she got, the more his eyes sparkled.

  “I just bet you do,” he gave a wolfish grin.

  Time to try a different tack, she thought and placed the knife on the counter with a clatter. "Later, I'll clean it up and put on a fresh bandage."

  He drained his cup and nodded. "I'd appreciate it.” Those dark blue eyes stayed trained on her, direct and unwavering. "Answer my question, Sara. Why couldn't you sleep?"

  A glance at him confirmed genuine curiosity and a hint of gentleness. The rapid shift of subject deflated some of her anger, and she tired from the rollercoaster of emotion he invoked. "I have insomnia. Are you hungry? I have bagels, English muffins, eggs?"

  He patted his stomach. Even through the shirt, his tight abs rippled. In her profession, she'd seen plenty of male anatomies, and always did her work with detached efficiency. No two ways about it, as a male specimen, Gabriel Donovan's physique could be deemed near perfect. Could she be faulted for her body’s reaction to him? Pheromones, hormones, a throwback to caveman days. The man fairly reeked of them, with some to spare. He could probably bottle the stuff and make a killing. Women would line up for miles like he was the pied piper of─

  "No, thanks, I'm good. I already ate before I came and I take it by the change of subject you’re not answering me."

  Sara stared at him, and he finally shrugged. "There's more coffee in the pot and a case of water in the fridge. I'm going to Marine Home to choose paint samples."

  "Wait.” Gabe pushed away from the counter. "I have samples in my truck. We can look over colors for the countertops too if you’re not anxious to run away from me again?"

  Of course, he had sam
ples in the truck. Good God, would she never get out of here? With supreme effort, Sara forced herself not to roll her eyes. "Sure, bring the samples in.”

  With a natural stride and a satisfied grin, Gabriel moved to the front door. What difference did it make if she indulged herself and admired the natural grace of his movements and the incredible ass packed into snug jeans? An English muffin popped up in the toaster, she buttered it, took a bite and accidentally bit the inside of her cheek. With watering eyes, she tossed the bread in the trash. All of a sudden, it was just too much.

  Gabriel came back in to set a three-ring binder on the counter so they could see the samples. "Here we are. Take your time. Let me know what you think."

  Warmth radiated from him. Head bent, her hair hid the moisture in her eyes. They stood shoulder to shoulder, and he rested one big hand next to the book, close enough to put her hand over his. His skin was deeply tanned, the nails neat and trimmed. The smells of sweat, wood and sunshine filled her head. Earthy, male.

  After an audible swallow, she pointed to a mute charcoal with flecks to make it look like stone. "I like this. It goes well with the maple flooring."

  "Nice choice,” he said, jotting down the order number. “Let's look at paint.” The book held an enormous assortment of colors. After they had flipped through the color strips for what seemed hours, she pointed to a particular sample.

  "Hm. Oyster Shell. The color reminds me of the driveway."

  Gabe set the paint chip next to the charcoal gray countertop sample. He leaned close while he studied the pieces and took up a large chunk of her personal space. One turn of the head would bring her mouth flush with his.

  "Nice choice, Sara. These colors work with the house and the natural environment. Charlotte told me about your talent with decorating and landscaping."

  At his compliment, warmth crept into her face, no doubt it turned pink as cooked shrimp. With her Scottish coloring, it happened far too easily to disguise. "Thanks. That's settled then."