Christmas in Lucky Harbor

by Jill Shalvis

  “Hey,” she complained, pointing to Tara’s surprise gift. “I thought I told you I’d get the flowers.”

  “I didn’t buy these.”

  Maddie eyed the pretty wildflowers. “Logan? Ford?”

  Tara shrugged.

  “We should all have two men after us,” Maddie said on a dreamy sigh.

  “I’m not with two men.”

  “I would be,” Chloe said, coming into the kitchen. She was back to her own color. Mostly. “Except probably after having both men naked and at my mercy, the ensuing asthma attack would kill me.”

  There was a momentary silence as the three of them contemplated both Ford and Logan naked at the same time.

  “Is it hot in here?” Maddie asked after a minute, fanning her face. “It feels hot in here.”

  Chloe pulled out her inhaler and took a hit. “So who are they from? Logan?”

  Tara touched the flowers. “Logan would’ve sent red roses from some fancy floral shop.”

  “Maybe they’re from Ford,” Mia said as she arrived for the day. She tucked her keys and purse into the broom closet. She was in capris and a spaghetti-strapped tank top, looking cool and collected. Tara gazed at her and felt a stab of envy. She used to be cool and collected.

  Until she’d come here. “Flowers aren’t really Ford’s style,” she said.

  “Yes, but you said you two weren’t together,” Mia said.

  “That’s true.”

  “So then how do you know what his style is?” Mia asked.

  Chloe smiled. “I like you, niece. I like you a lot.”

  Mia grinned at her, and Tara sighed. “Don’t encourage her,” she told Chloe, arranging a pile of muffins into a basket. On second thought, she grabbed a thermos and poured it full of milk as well.

  “Where are you going?” Maddie asked.

  “To find my Secret Santa.” Tara grabbed the basket and flowers. “Hold down the fort; I’ll be back in a minute to make breakfast.”

  “If you’re back in a minute, then you’re not doing it right,” Chloe called after her.

  Tara heard Chloe yelp, probably from Maddie smacking her upside the head.

  Ford hadn’t gotten to bed until three a.m. Sawyer had dumped him at the marina instead of driving him all the way up the hill to his house, then pocketed Ford’s keys to both the boat and his car.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Sawyer had said, then paused, clearly considering confiscating Ford’s cell phone as well.

  Luckily Ford had seen that coming and wisely shoved it down the front of his jeans.

  With a sound of disgust, Sawyer had left.

  Don’t do anything stupid. Ford had repeated that carefully to himself several times. Did that include walking up to the cottage and sneaking into Tara’s bedroom to make her pant and moan his name as he buried himself deep inside her?

  Cuz he’d totally do it.

  If he wasn’t half certain he’d drown himself getting off the boat. It took all of five seconds to drift off to sleep, only to wake some time later with his head pounding like a jackhammer. Dawn was streaking across the sky, and he was sprawled across the mattress.

  With someone sitting at the foot of his bed.

  Ford kept very still, eyes closed. “Make it count,” he warned whoever it was.

  “I can do that.”

  Craning his neck in surprise, he risked eyeballs popping out of his head to open his eyes.

  His daughter was sitting there holding a steaming mug of coffee, which she offered to him.

  “Bless you,” he whispered in gratitude. With a groan, he rolled over, then managed to sit up to take it.

  Mia waited until he sipped. “Alcohol is bad for you, you know,” she said. “Kills brain cells. And sperm cells.”

  He sucked in a very hot gulp of coffee and promptly choked, burning his tongue.

  “Sorry.” Mia met his gaze, her own bright and intense. “It’s just that I don’t want to rule out the possibility of a brother or sister someday. You know, when you and Tara get it together and figure yourselves out.”

  Just looking at her made his heart hurt, this precious kid who—by some lucky twist of fate—he’d fathered. “Honey,” he said carefully. “You do realize that things don’t always happen all clean and pretty and neat like that in real life, right? Because Tara and I—”

  “It could happen.” She rose to her feet, eyes and mouth stubborn. He recognized the expression and knew he couldn’t blame this one all on Tara.

  “Oh, and FYI,” she said, heading to the door. “Tara liked the flowers you delivered.”

  He blinked. “She… I—What?”

  But Mia was gone.

  Ford flopped back on the bed and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the sun was a little higher in the sky, and there was a different woman sitting on his bed.

  Tara let herself onto Ford’s boat and made her way below deck. The boat was clean and fairly neat, if one discounted the empty pizza box on the counter and the pile of clothes on the floor by the bed.

  Clearly Ford had stripped before climbing into it, which gave her a little shiver as she studied his big, very still body. He was sprawled facedown and spread-eagle across the mattress, wearing only a pair of black knit boxers and all that testosterone—which never failed to make her weak in the knees. His arms spanned the entire bed, as did his legs. And then there was the smooth, sinewy expanse of back and bitable ass…

  Controlling herself, she sat at his side, watching as he began to stir. With a groan, he rolled to his back, his hands going to his head as if he needed to hold it onto his shoulders.

  “Oh, Christ,” he said, his voice all morning raspy. He cracked open one bleary eye, looking like a hot, adorable mess. “Shoot me in the head. I’m begging you.”

  “I’ve got something better.” She lifted the basket of banana and honey nut muffins.

  He closed his eyes and inhaled. “You smell like heaven.”

  “It’s the food.”

  He didn’t move a muscle. “Aren’t you busy working?”

  “Mia and Maddie are handling the inn for a few minutes. I thought maybe you might need me.”

  He was quiet for a long moment. “I’ve never been all that good at needing someone.”

  She nodded. She understood.

  “But for you,” he said. “I could try.”

  Her heart squeezed.

  “But maybe later,” he said, wincing and rubbing his head. “Because right now I’m busy dying. Do you think you could put down the anchor? The world’s spinning.”

  Tara laughed softly and shifted closer, giving in to the urge to run her fingers over his forehead, smoothing back his hair, making him sigh in pleasure. “Why did you drink so much?” she murmured. “It’s not like you.”

  He muttered something about trying to prove he could be Superman if he wanted to and how no one should dance on a bar while drunk because it was a long fall down.

  She laughed again and went to pull away but he caught her hand and held it to his cheek. “You feel so nice and cool.” He sighed, eyes still closed. “No idea how I got so lucky to get you both here this morning, but I’m grateful.” Very carefully, he sat up and reached for the basket, but Tara held it back.

  “Both?” she asked.

  “Our daughter showed up with coffee.” His arms were longer than hers so he managed to snatch a muffin. “As well as the news that I brought you flowers.”

  That was so unexpected—a part of her had secretly hoped it’d been him—that she couldn’t control her surprised reaction.

  Ford’s smile faded. “And,” he said slowly, “you thought they were from me.”

  “No.” She shook her head, then nodded. “Okay, maybe a little.”

  “Fuck.” He grimaced and reached for her hand. “I’m sorry, Tara. But honestly, I was far too impaired for a gesture like that.”

  Tara shrugged. “It’s okay. I mean they’re not really your style anyway. I knew that. Now if it’d been
pizza and beer on the porch…”

  He arched a brow. “Are you saying I’m not romantic?”

  “It’s not your strong suit, no.”

  He bit into the muffin. “What is my strong suit?”

  She thought about how he could make her purr with a single touch, have her writhing in three minutes flat if he put his mind to it, and blushed.

  He smiled. “Come here.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Don’t trust me?”

  “Don’t trust me.”

  That made him chuckle, and he finished his muffin. “What are these again? They’re amazing.”

  “They’re honey banana, to calm the stomach. The honey also builds up sugar levels, and the bananas are rich in the important stuff: electrolytes, magnesium, and potassium, which you severely depleted with your alcohol intake.” She opened the thermos and handed it to him. “And milk. To rehydrate.”

  “You always name your masterpieces. What are these muffins called?”

  She squirmed a little. He knew her well, too well. She’d indeed named the muffins, but she didn’t want to tell him. It was too embarrassing. Not to mention revealing.

  “Come on,” he coaxed.

  She sucked in a breath and said it fast. “You’reMyHoneyBunMuffins.”

  A sole brow shot up. “One more time.”

  “You’re My Honey Bun Muffins.” She pointed at him. “And if you laugh, that’s the end of our friendship. Or whatever this thing between us is.”

  Ford grinned. “Aw. I’m your honey bun.”

  “Stop it.” She shoved a napkin at him. “And you’re getting crumbs in the bed.”

  “Don’t you mean, ‘you’re getting crumbs in the bed, honey bun’?”

  “Okay, that’s it. Give me back the muffins.” Tara reached for them but Ford laughed and held them out of her reach, leaning back so that she fell on top of him.

  Smooth, she thought, scrambling off his hard, warm, perfect body. He was pretty damn smooth as he proceeded to inhale three more muffins and down the milk while she watched. And so… male. Logan had always been a gym rat, his body toned from a rigorous routine of weights and cardio. Ford didn’t do the whole gym thing. No, his body was honed to a mouthwatering tightness by running and sailing, and it worked for him.

  It worked for her, too. “Are we going to talk about the phone messages?” she asked when he finally stopped eating, looking much better for it.

  He winced. “I was really hoping that part of last night was a dream.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Nope.”

  “Can we pretend it was?”

  “So you don’t want to be my sex slave?”

  Ford’s expression went hopeful as his gaze flew to hers, then turned crestfallen when she gave him an are-you-kidding-me look. “That’s just mean, teasing a man when he’s down.”

  “You’re not down,” Tara said. “You’re never down.”

  “And here I thought you were so observant.” He rolled off the bed.

  “Where are you going?”

  He dropped his boxers to the floor.

  “You’re naked!”

  “Yes, that’s usually how I like to shower,” he said and walked the finest ass she’d ever seen right out of the bedroom.

  Chapter 19

  “If it’s going to be two against one, make sure you aren’t the one.”

  TARA DANIELS

  Back at the inn, Tara cooked up a big breakfast. Then she made bread and put together a slow-cooking soup for later. After that, she cleaned the kitchen, opening the back door to sweep out the crumbs.

  When she turned around, Logan was standing there, watching her, eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed with exhaustion.

  “Wow,” she said. “You look like crap.”

  His smile was grim. “You make a bedside visit to Ford with hangover muffins, and you tell me I look like crap. Where’s the justice in that? And before you ask how I know, it’s on Facebook. Lucille reported seeing you board his boat with the muffins. She tweeted it, too, and loaded a pic.”

  Tara stared at him. “She did not.”

  “Did.”

  Tara shook her head to clear it but that didn’t help. Neither did the sneaking suspicion coming to her. “So what, you came here to hopefully get caught on camera as well?”

  Guilt flashed across his pretty-boy face, but he accompanied it with a charming smile. “Didn’t think it could hurt.”

  She glared at him, then realized that beneath that do-me smile was undeniable misery, and she felt her heart constrict. “Oh, Logan,” she said softly, coming around the island to push him gently into a chair.

  “Ah, shit,” he said, staying where she’d put him. “The nice Tara. I’m getting dumped, right?”

  “I already dumped you.” She made him some green mint tea, his favorite. “And this isn’t me being nice,” she said, handing him a mug. “It’s mercy. It’ll help your headache, but what would help even more is not trying to drink other people under the table.”

  “I didn’t try. I succeeded. And it wasn’t just any other people. It was your boyfriend.”

  “Ford’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Okay,” Tara said. “I want you to try something new—listening to me for once.” She sat in front of him and took his hand in hers. “I’m not looking for a husband. That’s over.”

  “But I’m not done fighting for you.”

  “I’m not a prize, Logan.”

  His smile softened. “Yes, you are.”

  Aw. Dammit, he really had his moments. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, “but you need to know that everything I’ve told you before still stands. I’m not coming back to you, Logan. We’re not going to make this work, you and me.”

  He looked at her for a long moment. “I’m not ready to concede yet, Tara.”

  “Logan—”

  “Look, I’m enjoying this town. I’ve been making friends with people who don’t bow down to me or want anything from me.”

  “What you’re enjoying is the chase,” she said. “And being talked about every day.”

  “Okay,” he admitted. “That too.”

  Shaking her head, Tara rose. “Go home, Logan. Go back to your life.”

  “I’ve never quit anything, you know that.” He rose too and snagged her hand, pulling her back around to face him. “And I’m not going to quit this. Not even for you.”

  He was looking at her just as she’d always dreamed he might, warm and soft and open, and all she could think was too little, too late. “Logan—”

  “No.” He set his finger over her lips. “God, not the pity. Smack me around, tell me I’m an ass, anything but the pity eyes.” He paused. “I will, however, take a pity f—oomph,” he said when she elbowed him in the gut. “Damn, woman.”

  “Go,” she said. Relieved to feel suddenly guilt-free, she shoved him out of her kitchen.

  The inn’s first real guests arrived as scheduled. A middle-aged couple on a West Coast road trip from San Diego to Vancouver, stopping at a different B&B every night.

  Maddie and Tara checked them in together, and Chloe gave them a gift basket full of her natural products. The wife fingered through the items, cooing at the bath salts, the herbal teas, the…

  “Massage oil?” the woman asked, lifting the bottle. She had to slip her glasses on to read the label. “Edible strawberry massage oil,” she said out loud. “Perfect for that special someone. Put it on your—Oh my.”

  Mia gaped.

  Maddie covered Mia’s eyes.

  Tara looked at Chloe in horror.

  Chloe laughed and reached for the oil. “Whoops, I was wondering where that went. Here, try this instead.” And she quickly replaced the oil with body lotion.

  “Oh,” the woman said, sounding greatly disappointed. “Could I maybe have both?”

  “Well, sure.” Chloe handed back over the oil. “Enjoy.”

  The woman glanced at her husband and gr
inned. “We will.”

  When the couple was safely upstairs in their room, Maddie and Tara rounded on Chloe, who held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, that was my bad,” she admitted.

  “You think?” Tara asked.

  Mia giggled. A real, honest-to-god genuine giggle, and then Maddie snorted. She slapped her hands over her mouth, but it was too late, and the sound of it sent Mia into a new fit of laughter. Chloe promptly lost the battle as well.

  “It isn’t funny,” Tara protested. “They’re going to be up there doing… things.” But her daughter was still cracking up, and Tara felt the helpless smile tug at the corners of her own mouth at the sound of it, and the next thing she knew, they’d all slid down the wall to the floor, laughing like loons.

  Together.

  That night, with everyone tucked into bed all safe and sound, Tara sneaked out to sit on the marina docks. She was staring up at the night sky when she felt a tingle race down her spine. “Ford,” she said quietly.

  His long legs appeared at her side. Then he crouched down on the balls of his feet to meet her gaze. “The guests?”

  “In and settled.” She felt herself smile. “They like us, I think.”

  “There’s not much not to like.” He had two beers dangling from the fingers of one hand and a pizza box in the other. “It’s not flowers,” he said, handing her one of the beers.

  Throat tight, she accepted it, their fingers brushing together. “I don’t need flowers.”

  “Do you need pizza?”

  No. The calories would warrant a damn run in the morning, and she hated to run. But there was this gorgeous man hunkered before her, looking like everything she could ever want. “Actually,” she said. “I need pizza more than I need my next breath.”

  Ford sat next to her, and they ate in comfortable silence. When they were done, he picked up the bottles and the empty box and disposed of them inside the marina building. He came back and again sat close enough that their arms and thighs touched. Around them, the insects hummed. The water slapped up against the dock.

  Comfort sounds. “It’s a beautiful night,” Tara said softly.

  “Yes,” he said, and she could feel him looking at her. He ran a finger over the strap of her lightweight, gauzy sundress, following the line over her collarbone.