Welcome to Serenity Harbor

by Multiple Authors

  “Or…” Lee hiccupped a tiny sob. “My mama’s?”

  Gray turned. Pulled her into his chest. Her heart raced against his torso. Damn. “Go downstairs and open up. I’ll finish.”

  “I need to do this—find out about my mama.” She touched the tip of the bear’s ear, the toy now stuffed between them.

  When she looked up at him, mascara smeared beneath her eyes, his heart ripped open. He pressed his thumb against her cheek to wipe the muddy brown smudge away. She looked lost. He knew where he came from and hated it, but she had no clue. Shit, in too deep—each tug at his heart brought him one more step closer to confiding in her.

  Trying to shut down the urge, Gray lost the battle when he looked into the cinnamon swirl of her eyes. He tucked a red curl behind her ear, trying anything to stop the forward momentum. Hell. He lowered his head, his mouth hovering near her lips. Waiting for her to shove him away.

  She didn’t.

  In the warm closed space of the second-floor storage room, he took what he’d wanted since the day she walked into his place and plunked her beautiful, red-headed butt on his bar stool.

  * * *

  Lauralee needed to pull away. Desperately.

  She couldn’t afford an attachment, no matter how fleeting. A fling would do her in—destroy her right now. Already she felt more for Gray then she’d ever felt for another man. She didn’t do relationships. Not one-night stands. Brief flings. Long-term. Nothing. Her heart never understood the difference. In this moment, she knew it was too late. His kiss sealed the fate for her heart, as the wall around it crumbled.

  Her hands anchored against his chest, pushed. “We shouldn’t—can’t do this.”

  When he looked at her, his eyes a deep navy blue glazed over. His lips a beautiful bronzed red from their kiss, forced her resolve to ebb away like a lazy wave lapping at the shore and back to disappear in the ocean again. She’d tried to reel her resolve back in. As if her determination to end the kissing would obliterate what she already knew would devastate her.

  Relationships and Lauralee did not mix.

  “Why not?” His drawl slipped down her arms leaving goosebumps in the wake of his husky voice.

  “It won’t go anywhere.”

  “Why not?”

  This time she did shove at his chest. “What are you, a parrot?”

  His grin, cocky, like he knew she’d say anything to get him to back off, even though she wanted to press her body against every damn inch of his. Every. Damn. Inch.

  His arms tightened around her waist, and his fingers locked at the small of her back. Oh god. Every damn inch pressed against her belly. No hiding his want. And hers.

  What was done was done. She stood on tiptoe, slipped her arms around his neck and went back for more.

  His heartbeat mimicked hers. Their breath mingled. And the rest of the world disappeared.

  “So, um,” He breathed deep. “You live across the hall.”

  She nodded into the forehead he leaned against hers, even though he knew the answer.

  “Your place have a bed?”

  Again she nodded, before her heart gave a kick from the missed beat. “Shit. No. Yes, but no. I—we cannot do this.”

  “What’s a little loving between friends?” He nuzzled her neck. The scrape of whiskers leaving their mark. His mark. No. She shoved against his chest. “I don’t do a little loving among friends.”

  “Lee. Lee.” His hot, strong fingers kneaded her waist. “Not what I meant. We’re—we could be more than friends.”

  She backed out of his grasp. “For how long, Gray?”

  He shrugged. “As long as we both want—”

  She skirted around him, straight into the hall, stopping at the top of the stairs. “I’ve got work to do. Downstairs. Then dinner plans.”

  He stood stock still.

  Her escape pounded loud and clear in her footfall on the wooden steps.

  Lee left Gray burning, bothered, and bereft. Go figure.

  He stood in the dense heat of the room, adjusted himself and willed his cock to stand down. He’d blown it—knew she wasn’t the type for casual. Knew it wasn’t what he wanted either. But his mouth kept on spewing old, routine words he’d used to ensure his latest conquest would understand where he stood.

  Now to gain back her trust and prove to her she was different from the others.

  Chapter 6

  On tiptoe Lauralee crept up the stairs, quieter than the little mouse she sometimes heard skittering overhead.

  Gray had rummaged around upstairs all afternoon—a lot noisier than the mouse—setting her nerves to jump like a mouse avoiding the resident house cat. She’d heard the scrape of a box ten minutes earlier, but nothing since.

  She hadn’t lied when she’d mentioned plans at six. She’d sent photos of her portfolio off to a trendy gallery in Portland featuring off-the-wall artworks. Now she had to get to her meeting. She didn’t want Gray to know anything, in case she failed to book the showing.

  Plus, she needed space.

  His kiss unglued her. Thrilled her. Sent shock waves rippling through her body. How long had it been since a kiss had affected her?

  Never.

  Not one single time. And the kiss had been nothing compared to what could have happened if she hadn’t run scared—no terrified—from the room.

  The thought sent a tidal surge of embarrassment through her, heat shooting up her face, around her neck, across her chest. Oh god. So not good.

  One more stair. Five stealth-like, hold-your-breath steps across the creaky wooden floor to her door. As she glanced into the darkened store room, she realized he must have exited down the back steps minutes earlier.

  She showered off the grime layered on from reclaiming the gallery, pulled out a flowing, ankle-length skirt swirling with fall colors—golds, browns, purples, and scarlet—like her favorite chrysanthemums, and a gold linen blouse to match. Applying a light gloss to her lips, the barest brush of mascara, and a smidgen of color to her cheeks, she twirled in front of the full-length mirror.

  Shoes? Not her Berks. Not her high tops. She needed heels, something to spell class.

  She rummaged in her closet for her taupe pumps—the ones she bought on sale three years ago and worn once. Stifling a groan, she squished swollen feet into each shoe.

  Half an hour later, she strolled into the Serenity Harbor Inn and across the lobby to the posh lounge decorated in tasteful muted teals and taupe, with subtle beach glass and shell accessories. She looked at her taupe shoes and grinned. Perfect. Who knew bargain basement would come in handy someday.

  Branson Wolf—a stage name?—greeted her. Right to the point, he praised her work, whipped out a contract, and before she could say Holy Smokes, she had booked an exhibit in October.

  Floating on a current running between this is it! and oh, my god, what have I done?, she climbed the stairs to her efficiency. The silence, after a day of Gray’s constant shift and shuffle, stretched her nerves to the brink of imploding. She’d never noticed how spooky an empty gallery could be at night. For some reason the quiet set her creep-factor soaring.

  Damn it all. She should have sent Gray packing the first time he showed up to help. She’d adjusted to the quiet. Adjusted to the ghostly thoughts—memories—invading her sub-conscience since she’d moved to Maine. Now she dealt with remembered kisses still hot on her lips, and sultry, bedroom looks whipping her imagination into a frenzy. So not good.

  As she stood outside her little apartment, she glanced over at the open door to the storage room. Her thoughts spun as to what she had to face tomorrow. More dust and grime and hefting boxes. Facing memories of a past she never knew.

  Flicking on a light in her apartment, she set down her purse and keys, and turned back to walk the few steps across the hall.

  She flipped the switch to the storeroom. The overhead lighting illuminated the entire huge space, the size of her apartment and office together. Gone was the clutter. Gone the dust and grime. I
n its place, unpacked paintings standing against the walls dotted the perimeter—a silent gallery dedicated to the works of Mindi Adler.

  Displayed in a corner were her own ghoulish paintings, so different from Mindi’s. Oh god, Gray had seen the paintings she’d forgotten she’d buried in the back of the storeroom. Like comparing Edvard Munch’s The Scream to Winslow Homer’s Sunlight on the Coast. Gray loved Mindi’s painting. What had he thought of her style?

  She concentrated on Mindi’s works circling the room. Her aunt, who chose to show other’s works and keep hers secreted away, would never understand the beauty of her own. Or know other’s found them riveting, alive, pulsing with the energy of Maine’s nature at its best and worst. She should talk—she’d hidden her own work away, afraid of what others would think.

  Maybe Gray was right. Could she go against Mindi’s wish and hang them? Did she dare hang her own downstairs?

  Tears simmered, threatening to boil over, as her eyes rested on the pile of boxes neatly stacked in the middle. A ripped strip of cardboard stood against the pile. Bold black letters scrawled across the non-descript brown.

  Feet screaming—should have changed into slippers—Lauralee walked across scuffed floor boards, swept clean, to read the note.

  Dumped trash. Packaged up Mindi’s personal things. Cleaned. Be back soon to help hang Mindi’s paintings. No arguments. We need to talk.

  Mexican jumping beans pummeled her gut.

  Gray had cleaned up this whole mess—for her.

  Gray had preserved the past—for her.

  Gray thought he knew best—for her and Mindi.

  Yeah, they had to talk. And it wouldn’t be pretty. Once Lauralee conjured up the backbone to look him in the eye without her damn heart pounding.

  She backed away from the boxed memories and Gray’s note and the deserted room. The quiet pressed against her, sending shivers up and down her spine. She flipped off the switch and pulled the door shut with a bang, now echoing down the stairs and through the quiet of the gallery. She shivered.

  What would it take to make the storage room into a fun efficiency with an ocean view? Bring some life and money to this empty building.

  Gray would know. But did she dare ask for more help without giving away her heart?

  Chapter 7

  Lauralee swallowed, hard, capturing her breath in her chest.

  You have to face Gray.

  She shoved against the glass door sheathed in gauzy curtains distorting the view of the inside. She prayed Gray worked today. They had to talk about what happened. The kiss, and what almost came next. Her next breath caught in her throat, as she stumbled into the muted afternoon light of an empty restaurant, now praying Gray was elsewhere.

  “Hey.” His husky voice sounded cavernous, almost distorted. Happy to see her? Angry? In her head, she always reverted to the anger scenario. Hard to shake the past experiences coloring her life in grays and browns and blacks.

  Hard to trust. Even though with Gray she knew better. Deep down inside, she knew better.

  “Hey.” She strolled to the bar, casual on the outside, terrified on the inside, plunked her all-purpose bag on a stool and sat down. “We okay?”

  He nodded. He was never a man of few words.

  “So we’re not really okay.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Not sure.”

  “You wanted to talk.”

  “Might be best if you start.”

  Damn. She’d hurt the cavalier, always-with-a-comeback kind of guy’s feelings. Go figure. “I—ah—fair enough.” She shifted in her seat trying to get comfortable. Not happening.

  Gray turned his back, grabbed a bottle of vodka, the shaker, and starting pouring shots of god-knows-what into the shining metal container, along with a handful of ice. He plucked a stemmed glass from overhead. Shook. Poured. Shoved the beautiful amber concoction in front of her.

  “Trying to loosen my tongue?” She swallowed a mouthful.

  “Easy. You won’t get the full effect if you gulp. Sip.”

  “Always bossy.”

  He grinned for the first time since she’d sat. Not full-fledged, but enough for his awe-inspiring dimple to flicker forth before he extinguished the flame.

  “I’m sorry. I freaked. I don’t do casual.”

  “I never meant to make it seem causal, Lee.” His voice almost a whisper.

  She held up a palm. “I don’t do relationships. Period.”

  His bright blue eyes turned smoky navy, as he looked at her long and steady. Like he could see into her very soul. Like he tried to read her every insecurity and life’s secret. Like he cared. Really cared.

  Instead of saying anything about caring, he shrugged. “Take a sip. What’d’ ya think.” The warden offering his prisoner a reprieve.

  With the chill of the stemmed glass against her lips, she breathed deep, and sipped. She rolled the concoction, tasting like a crisp fall day, over her tongue before swallowing. “Nutty, with hints of maple. A spicy aftertaste”

  “Not too sweet?”

  “No. Perfect. Lovely.”

  As if she presented a peace offering, his grin broke wide. “We like lovely.”

  There it was again—the we. Her heart skipped a beat. If only she did do relationships—Gray would be the one. “So what’s in this one?”

  “Vodka. Nut-flavored liqueurs—a splash of each so as not to overwhelm. And a splash of maple, cinnamon, and clove-infused bitters.”

  “The bitters made here?”

  “You bet.”

  “You’ve found your calling working here. Did you do the same before you moved to Maine? I’ve always detected a bit of New York accent.”

  “Lived in the City.” Gray turned toward the front door. Subject dropped as Gray nodded toward Rob Campion slipping into his usual spot at the end of the bar. “Burger and the works?” Rob nodded.

  Gray placed the order and sauntered back to stand in front of Lee.

  “What did you do there?”

  “You really want to know, or you trying to avoid talking about us?”

  Lauralee’s heart plummeted. “There is no us.”

  “Yeah, there is. You kissed me. And you felt the whole…thing.”

  She sat straight, her palms curled around the edge of the bar. “I did not kiss you.”

  He leaned elbows on the bar. One hand fisted against his jaw, the other palm cupping a cheek. And stared. “Really.” Not a question, but a snarky you are disillusioned.

  “Maybe.” She fidgeted with the cocktail napkin, folding each corner up around the base of the glass. Turning the glass, a quarter way at a time, and running her finger over each fold to iron them in place. Killing time. Not glancing up. Feeling Gray’s breath, his essence surrounding her he was so friggin’ close. Without raising her gaze to meet his, she mumbled. “After you kissed me first.”

  “Lee. Lee. Lee. Semantics. Be honest. I wanted you. You wanted me.”

  She wasn’t sure how to respond. Yeah, she wanted him. Still did. But this thing could never work.

  “You got cold feet. No shame. Sure, it damned near killed me.”

  She tried to conjure up a flirty smile, but failed, since he kept right on. “Get one thing straight, I’m not blaming you. All I want—you admit there is an us—whatever form. Now or the future. There is an us.” He straightened, taking his salty, citrusy, spicy scent with him. And frankly, leaving her bereft.

  She shoved her drink aside—the wonderfully cozy, intoxicatingly fall-infused cocktail—and scraped back the stool.

  Gray turned on a dime. “We’re not finished yet.”

  She stood, hands on hips. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  “Not telling. Asking. You owe me. Now sit. I’m off in ten, as soon as Belinda gets here.”

  “I—”

  “Hey there, sugarplum.” Luke sauntered from the kitchen and headed around the bar, straight for her. “You’re not leaving already? Haven’t even warmed up the keys yet.”

  �
�She’s staying.” Without another word or glance, Gray strode through the swinging door to the kitchen.

  “What’s with him?” Luke leaned against the bar stool next to her.

  “You tell me. You know him a hell of a lot better than I do.”

  “You don’t want to hear my take on the jackass.” Luke winked before he broke into rumbling, heartfelt laughter that could pulse deep into a person and take away their blues.

  “Yeah, I do. He’s always butting into my business. But he runs whenever I ask a question.”

  “He’s gun shy when it comes to talkin’ about himself.”

  “Yet, he asks the same of me.”

  Luke grinned. “It’s the attorney in him. Stoic, but digging away at the witness.”

  “He’s an attorney?”

  “Honey, you need to let Gray answer all your questions. Suffice it to say, his childhood wasn’t rosy.”

  “What happened?”

  Luke shook his head. “His parents aren’t the demonstrative sort. He’s damn good at tamping down emotion, not letting people see who he really is.”

  Lauralee thought about the smoldering kiss. Thought about all the times Gray had rescued her, pitching in, showing he could be a friend. “He shows it. Every day.” She swung around on the bar stool and gestured around the big room. “To everyone in this town.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, sugar. But he never admits it to himself—well never you mind. He’ll come round.”

  “He wants to talk, Then doesn’t. I’m never sure where he’s coming from.” Who did she kid? She was just as bad. No worse. No wonder she frustrated Gray.

  “Give the guy a break. If anyone can get him to talk…. Only you have to reciprocate. Capisce?” Again Luke winked, before rambling toward the piano.

  * * *

  Lee opened the door to Gray’s pounding.

  “You didn’t wait. I asked you to wait.”

  “You demanded I wait.”

  Gray had been in the Starlight kitchen for five minutes—tops. She couldn’t wait? He strode into her apartment without invitation. He still had shit to say, and he wasn’t about to let Lee off the hook.

  He couldn’t let himself off the hook either. He had no blame to throw her way for not trusting him—not after his snarky, cavalier comments and avoidance tactics about questions for which she deserved an answer. If he wanted her trust, he had to prove himself.