by Meredith, MK
His eyes drifted over her. She was dressed in loose fitting jeans that were rolled up to her knees, and a long-sleeved tee was layered under a hooded sweater that was the same remarkable color as her sky-blue eyes. Her Bean boots and socks lay abandoned next to a towel a few feet away.
“Your feet have to be freezing.”
Still no answer.
Mitch pulled in a breath and let out a deep sigh. “Really? The silent treatment?” The sight of her opened something in him that he wasn’t too sure had ever seen the light of day before. “Look, you were right. I hide. I don’t want to hurt anyone like my dad hurt my mother. Hurt me and Mae. There are no guarantees in life. No wedding, no ‘I do,’ no ring...hell, no contract can guarantee that either party within a transaction won’t end up being hurt.”
He paused for her reaction, but she simply picked up another shell, and he gritted his teeth. Why couldn’t she understand?
“Claire, I don’t want to hurt you. I care. Fuck. I think I love you, but...”
Reaching out for her, he was about to place his hand on her shoulder when she looked up, her eyes widened in shock, and she jumped away with a scream.
“Oh my God!” she yelled, taking a step back but landing on an uneven rock. Her ankle bent awkwardly, and she threw her arms out, shells flying from her basket in her flailing attempt to right herself.
Mitch caught her about her waist but his forward momentum was too much with her backward momentum, and they both met an oncoming wave, landing in a foot of seawater.
With a confused look, Claire searched his face as she pulled earbuds from her ears.
She hadn’t heard a word he’d said.
Both relief and disappointment held his tongue. He’d meant it, but as he held her searching gaze with his own, doubt and fear kept him from repeating it.
“I thought you’d gone into town with Ryker and Jay to set up the town hall for tomorrow night’s meeting,” she said breathless and trembling.
He shook his head, shoving himself up from the water, resisting the backward motion of sand slipping out from beneath his hand.
Once he was on sure footing, he reached for Claire.
She hesitated. “Are you sure you want to help me? Aren’t you afraid I’ll try and trick you with my psycho mumbo jumbo?”
He spread his fingers wide in a silent demand that she take his hand.
“Newsflash, sweetheart. You tricked me long before the mumbo jumbo.”
* * *
Claire pulled the thick robe closer about her body and joined Mitch in front of the fireplace in the master room of the Cape house. The last time she’d been in this room, he’d changed her opinion through a simple soft touch along the sole of her foot.
“Here, sip on this.” He pushed a tumbler of Scotch into her hand, directing her to one of the high-backed tufted chairs.
They sat in silence for a moment, reminding Claire of all the times she and Jimmy had done the same. Simply sitting together, warm and comfortable. Willing to absorb the tranquility of enjoying one another’s presence in cozy, companionable silence.
A lovely sensation of acceptance fluttered through her with the thought. She didn’t feel guilty or sad that she now shared the moment with Mitch. Just content.
Puzzle jumped up on her lap, already purring, circled on her thighs, then lay down.
Jimmy would have liked Mitch...and Puzzle. She ran her hand down the cat’s back.
Well, truth be told, Jimmy wouldn’t have been able to stand the Mitch that everyone knew, not the guy that picked up the tab at the local bar, Gin & Tonic, then had his pick of ladies to go home with. But he would have really liked the real Mitch.
The one she’d gotten to know and admire.
But she was still mad at him, so there was that. Part of that anger was because he’d forced her to face the fact that there was something between them. It had been easier to handle when she thought there was no way he’d ever truly feel anything for her. Then he was safe.
Now, he was more dangerous than anyone she’d ever met.
“I’m sorry for what I said about your program.” His words were simple, straightforward, and exactly what she’d needed to hear. And the program was so much easier to handle than any feelings between them.
“You were insulting.”
“I know. Being an ass is pretty easy for me.”
She raised her glass to his and clinked the side gently. “Me, too.”
“You hit a nerve I’m not quite ready to conquer, and there is real liability for the Center when it comes to our dealings with children.”
She sipped from her glass, hoping the peaty flavor would lend some flexibility to her tongue. “I’m well aware of that. I am an educated woman, Mitch.”
“I know. But there are laws...” He trailed off. “What were you doing outside?”
“Damn it! My shells.” Flopping back against the chair, she groaned. “They’re for an activity for the kids.”
“Of course, they are.” He sat with his elbows on his thighs, the fire reflecting from his gaze leaving her feeling quite toasty. “You’ll make a really great mother someday, Claire Adams.”
“You know I’m not having any children. I’ve already told you.”
“I understand fear, it—”
“It’s more than that. It’s intuition.”
His curiosity was genuine and so focused she felt as though he pulled the words from her mouth. She spoke, weaving the setting of a dream, or rather a nightmare, that she’d had time and again since losing her baby.
“I’m in a house. I don’t know where, it isn’t one I recognize, but I know how to go from room to room as if I’d been there before. There’s a storm, lightning, thunder... A baby’s cry echoes throughout the house. I know it’s a little girl, my baby... I feel her in the depths of my soul. But starting with a nursery of lime green and soft pink, I just catch the shadow of a toddler but can’t reach her, can’t see her face.
“Every time I have this dream, it goes through each second the exact same way it had in the dream before. I run to the master bedroom next, then the kitchen, knowing the way every time, but each room I enter seems to be just as she moves on, leaving behind an essence of innocence, of love, but completely out of reach... I can’t get to her.”
She paused in her retelling, her hand holding Puzzle too firmly, as her chest filled with the heavy burden of sadness, like life’s anchor, making her unable to go back or move forward.
The cat stretched out of her grasp but didn’t get down.
“Even without my unwillingness to ever risk feeling that kind of pain again, this dream is a lesson I can’t ignore. A sign that motherhood is simply not for me.” The familiar wretched pain seared in her chest and tears stung behind her lids.
Mitch slid his fingers under her own, but instead of just holding her hand, he pulled her out of her chair and onto his lap. Puzzle jumped to the floor with an indignant meow. She welcomed the comfort of his arms banded about her like a great life preserver, keeping her afloat, no fear of going under.
If only...
Giving in to his sweet ministrations, she tucked her nose into the crook of his neck. Breathing in his warm skin, a heady mixture of spicy cologne and his unique male scent, reminded her of the Cape lawn after a hard rain. Earthy, crisp, with a hint of home.
“What if it is though.” His voice vibrated against her cheek.
She stiffened, but he held her tight.
“Hear me out. What if the dream isn’t about a daughter you aren’t meant to have, but the daughter you are meant to have...if you’d only reach for her.”
His words struck her with the fear of possibility, of love and loss, and she had no words.
So instead, she drained her glass, then slammed her lips to his.
His mouth remained still beneath hers, but as she rubbed her hands up the solid mounds of his chest to his shoulders, he opened to her with a low, gravelly groan.
“Claire,” he growled his w
arning, but she couldn’t heed it. Wouldn’t pull back.
She needed something to ease the growing anxiety of getting too close, needing too much, wanting more than she could ever have.
Kissing him was the exact opposite of a solution, but it was one of the few moments lately where she could lose herself in the decadent pleasure of life instead of being afraid of losing what she didn’t even have.
With a sudden surge forward, Mitch had her flat on her back in front of the fireplace, and in seconds, her robe splayed open. He straddled her, devouring her naked body with hungry eyes. “I can’t get enough. Never enough.”
Sliding his mouth over hers, he dove deep, their tongues teasing, tasting. She helped pull his shirt over his head, then waited as he shoved his pants from his hips.
Her body was on fire with every stroke of his rough hands over her skin, cupping her breasts, raking down her sides to grab her ass.
“You are so God damn beautiful,” he ground out as he lifted her to him.
Wrapping her legs around his waist, she trapped him against her, rubbing against his cock, fueling the intense need to feel him inside of her again.
“I need you. Now,” she begged.
He was too much and all at once. An overwhelming presence that she craved again and again. His scent and taste making her drunk and unable to think beyond the very real need to have him.
Spreading her legs, he adjusted so the head of his cock was poised to give her what she wanted.
“Don’t wait.”
He gathered her arms above her head.
“Mitch!” She lifted her hips, trying to take him inside.
“Look at me,” he demanded in a growl.
Afraid to see too much, but more afraid not to feel all that he had to offer, she met his intense gaze.
“There’s no forgetting me, Claire. There’s no forgetting us. No matter what.”
Denying the pull between them was no longer possible. “Never,” she whispered.
And in one fluid stroke forward, he filled her world with a brilliant flash of cresting sensation until she spiraled beyond the reach of reality.
Nothing mattered but the feel of him around her, his voice in her ear, his taste on her tongue. Emotion pushed dangerous words to her lips, but she swallowed them down as his frenzied strokes took them both higher and higher.
“Claire,” he ground out.
“I’m with you.” And in one deep thrust, it was the most honest they’d been with each other since they’d met.
As their bodies melted back to reality, Mitch cradled her head in his hands and rested his forehead against hers. “What have we done?” He slid to his side, pulling her into his chest and curving his body around hers.
She wasn’t sure, but what she did know was that she felt safe in his arms.
Cherished.
Wasn’t he the one who said she shouldn’t settle for anything less? “Stay here with me. Don’t take that job in Portland,” she whispered as she dozed off.
Chapter 17
Mitch put up two fingers to the bartender working the cash bar inside the town hall. It looked like every citizen in town was arriving to hear updates on the council positions, including the city attorney seat, and the coming weekend’s Cape Van Buren Fall Art Festival being held out on the Cape.
It wasn’t a formal meeting, thank God, because he needed a drink more than his next breath.
The town hall was two stories of open space with large beams and a huge anchor-inspired chandelier. It smelled of Old English wood oil and the briny call of the Atlantic.
“Your regular, Mitch?” The tall, willowy brunette grabbed a tumbler and the Ardbeg from the top shelf. Her knit sweater lifted just enough to hint at the smoothness of her skin, and her jet-black waves skimmed the top of her jeans.
She was exactly his type. Beautiful, kind, and available. In fact, they’d had fun once or twice in the past, but not even one spark of interest nudged him to make a move. Just the opposite. Instead, he wanted to...give her advice.
He dipped his chin, biting the inside of his cheek. Cynthia Marshall had been a bartender since they’d all done their twenty-one run, and he couldn’t help but wonder why the hell she hadn’t gone on to get a formal education, instead choosing to serve drinks. He hated seeing potential go to waste.
God help him. He’d somehow grown old, or worse...
In love with someone else.
With an urgent need to quell the ludicrous thoughts imploding his brain, he grabbed the tumbler and tossed it back, slamming his hands along the bar top and leaning into the pain of the fire burning through his chest.
“Jesus. What’d you do that for?” She reached out to pat his back, but he lifted a hand to stop her and stepped back.
He welcomed the discomfort. It distracted him from all the wanting.
A wanting that only grew exponentially worse since having Claire in front of the fireplace back on the Cape. When she’d asked him to stay, he asked her to repeat herself, unable to believe his own ears. But she’d already fallen asleep.
He’d wanted to shout, yes, he’d stay. He’d wanted to wake her up and make her admit she loved him, then make love to her all over again.
Instead, he’d watched her sleep, soaking in every smooth inch of her face. Memorizing it, the way her brows arched, how her lips turned up at the ends. He’d stroked her silken cheek and smoothed her hair back from her temples.
And all that wanting proved to him more than anything else why he had to leave. As they’d grown closer, she’d never been able to even consider a conversation about what was happening between them. Her pain wouldn’t allow her to.
He had his issues, but she also had hers.
She wasn’t ready.
So, he was going to accept the city attorney seat offered by Portland. Her whispered request had only magnified the importance of distance. He would work to be there for her every day of his life, but there was no possible way to get through forever without hurting her somehow.
He’d promised her that he was a safe bet.
And he’d fucked it up.
She was so terrified of being hurt, of feeling that kind of pain again, that he refused to risk it.
But there was also no possible way he could handle seeing her sweet smile as she made her way down Van Buren Blvd or breathing in her scent that was all Claire and sunshine and sensuality. And now that she was feeling settled in how she could date without forming an attachment, there was no way in fucking hell he’d be able to see her with some Mainer or worse yet, some flatlander, without punching him in the face.
He knew it was an ignorant thought and he didn’t care.
Leaving hurt like hell but staying would be torture.
“You speaking tonight?” Cynthia asked, breaking into his thoughts.
Sliding the glass for another, he waited to answer as she poured two more fingers’ worth. Glass in hand, a calm settled over him, and he dipped his chin in confirmation. “Briefly.”
She studied him, a curious expression in her gaze. “She’s changed you.”
There was no way to experience Claire Adams and not be changed, but he wasn’t about to respond and invite any kind of speculation.
In a town like Cape Van Buren, gossip only created tornadoes from a spring breeze.
Maxine and Janice appeared out of nowhere, sliding their arms through the crook of his elbow on each side, flanking him like thorns on a rose bush. It might be an unkind thought, but these two never seemed to need anything from him that had his best interest in mind.
“What do you want?”
His mother gave him her wide-eyed look of innocence, and all his spidey-senses sprung to high alert.
“What, a mother can’t say hello to her son?” Her red curls were tucked under a paddy cap that Blayne had brought back from Glengarriff.
He stopped, barely aware of the din of conversations around him as he looked at the two women for any sign of what was about to happen. “No. You two
have proven time and again that when you band together, bad things are about to happen.”
With a scoff, Maxine grabbed a glass of red wine from a tray that was making its way around the town hall like a celebrity crowd surfing at Coachella. “Oh, please. Like what?”
The deluge of memories from the earliest he could remember including jail, the police, moonshine, and the many different mayors hit him all at once, but instead of going into it with Maxine—because no one ever came out on top—he simply crossed his arms over his chest.
“What.”
Maxine had the gall to look annoyed. “Well, if you’re going to be like that.”
“You’d think I didn’t raise him right with that tone,” Janice added.
A smile quivered at the corners of both women’s lips, making all the warning alarms in his head clang at once.
“No. The answer is no.” He walked away, weaving through the crowd toward the front of the room. But the ladies were on his tail like a moose after an elder tree.
Evette stepped right in front of him, stopping him in his tracks, and as he turned to go around her, Shelly Anne cut him off. What. The. Fuck. A South Cove Madame helping a North Cove Maven? This had to be a first.
“What the hell is going on?”
Shelly Anne grinned. “We’re seeing some of the benefits of working together. Claire had some very good points about her plan for the festival.”
His mother circled him, stopping when she stood in front of him once again. “Remember how the festival is raising money for local kids?”
There was no winning if they were pitting him against children in need.
God damn it.
Out of the corner of his eye, platinum locks glistened in the soft evening light.
Claire. He could feel her, a soft thrumming through his blood, a low humming in his mind. He rubbed at his chest.
“Get to it, Mom.”
“We want to auction off your services.”
All the blood drained from his face, and the world seemed to tilt precariously.