Nantucket Romance 3-in-1 Bundle

by Denise Hunter

  She opened her eyes and watched him navigate the smooth water of the ocean. The moon lit his white shirt, and the wind tossed his hair. His shoulders looked sturdy and broad, wider than the seat back.

  He looked back at her as if to confirm she was still there. They exchanged a smile.

  Pretend everything is different. Just for tonight. What could it hurt? Just to be with him and relax and let whatever happens happen.

  It wasn’t like anything would happen anyway. Tucker was in love with Sweetpea. Or Arielle. Or whomever.

  She shook her head, not wanting to work at the fussy knot her life had become. Forget all that. Just think about now. Right now. Out here. Me, Tucker, and the open sea.

  A few minutes later he slowed the boat and the wind died down. It was dark out on the water. Only the glow of the moon lit their way. The boat drifted to a stop, and Tucker walked toward her.

  “You look cute all wrapped up like that.”

  She was sure she’d never been called cute. Maybe she had a fairy godmother after all.

  Tucker sat beside her on the narrow bench. “We’re here.”

  She looked around them. There wasn’t a soul or anything else around. Only a blanket of darkness that hid the world from sight. “Of course we are.”

  He smiled. “You’re going to be just like Dorothy when you’re about sixty, know that?”

  “Alone and feisty?” The words slipped out before she knew they were coming. She didn’t like how vulnerable it made her, and she wished she could snatch them back.

  “The feisty’s a definite.”

  She could feel him watching her. She didn’t dare look. Her eyes fixed on the water off the port side where the moon shimmered on the surface.

  “The alone part is up to you,” he said.

  Not so much, she thought. But what did he know?

  You weren’t going to think about that tonight, remember? Why was it so hard for her to relax?

  Uh, because she had one hundred and ninety pounds of man flesh sitting beside her?

  Not just any man flesh. Tucker. And he was looking at her again. “Why are we here?” Her voice cracked on the question.

  He didn’t seem to notice. “The second show.”

  “Second show?”

  “Up there.” He pointed upward, and she followed the direction of his finger.

  Overhead, the sky was a black canvas, smooth as velvet and dotted with what looked like a million fireflies. She’d never seen so many stars. Some as bright as the moon, others so faint she could hardly see them.

  “There are so many.” She looked up until her neck began to ache.

  Tucker placed his arm along the back of the bench.“Lean back.” His eyes glowed dark in the shadows. Her heart stuttered.

  She laid her head in the crook of his elbow, the strength of his bare arm resting against her neck. Oh, how she’d missed this. Things email could never provide. Security. Comfort. She could list a hundred more.

  She inhaled the scent of his cologne, not daring to tear her eyes from the night sky. Smells.

  The boat rocked slightly, a cradle on the water. The wind hummed a lullaby and waves lapped the boat, a gentle percussion.

  “Sabrina?” he whispered.

  Voices. She swallowed around a dry lump in her throat. Don’t look.

  Do. Not. Look.

  “What?” she asked so quietly she wasn’t sure if he heard.

  “Look at me.” His voice, low and deep, beckoned.

  She turned her head. He was so close. His breath mingled with the salty air and cooled her cheeks. His eyes . . .

  His eyes were a deep pool, the color of the ocean at midnight. Had anyone ever looked at her the way he looked at her now? What was there, shimmering on the surface? Longing? Devotion? Desperation? She soaked it up, every ounce. “What?” she asked, needing to know. Needing words, not trusting herself to interpret his expression.

  And then his hand was on her face, his palm cooling her flushed cheek. His thumb grazed the ridge of her lower lip, and she thought her lungs might explode. Touches.

  He drew closer, and then his lips were on hers, the merest of touches. A butterfly’s wings, a baby’s breath. It shook her to the core.

  His lips tasted hers, teasing gently. Kisses.

  It had been so long since she’d felt like this. Had she ever felt like this? Really wanted? Needed?

  He deepened the kiss, ran his hand through her hair. This wanting, this needing, filled her to overflowing. She breathed him in. Tucker. The man who knew everything about her, the man who knew her every scar, inside and out. The man who loved her anyway.

  Only he didn’t know he loved her. Didn’t know she was Sweetpea.

  He was supposed to love Sweetpea.

  Why was he kissing her? She felt betrayed. Then she felt silly because he was betraying her with her.

  Even so, the feeling persisted. If he loved Sweetpea, how could he kiss Sabrina? She felt enraged on Sweetpea’s behalf.

  She pushed at his chest, breaking the kiss.

  Her breaths came hard and short. She saw the confusion in his eyes before she turned. “Take me home.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  The answer to that question could fill a book. Did she have desperation written all over her? Is that why he’d kissed her? Wasn’t he getting enough action from Arielle? The thought provoked her.

  “I’ve had enough of the second show.” She pulled the blanket more tightly around her, but the chill seeped right through.

  He touched her hair. She flinched away. A lump the size of Texas lodged in her throat, and she feared she’d really make a fool of herself if he didn’t put some distance between them. Why had she come out here with him? What was she hoping to prove?

  Her thoughts from earlier washed over her, mocking her. Pretend everything is different. Just for tonight. What could it hurt? Just to be with him and relax and let whatever happens happen.

  Stupid, stupid.

  Now she knew what it could hurt. Her. The ache spread from her throat to her stomach and camped there.

  “I’m sorry,” Tucker said, still looking at her. “I didn’t mean—”

  Didn’t mean what? Didn’t mean to kiss her? Didn’t mean he wanted her? Didn’t mean to betray the woman he really loved?

  She’d never know what he didn’t mean, because after he said it, he went to start the boat, leaving her huddled against the cold.

  Sweetpea: Kissing is highly underrated. Characters in movies go from first base to home plate in one giant leap. Doesn’t anyone value the kiss anymore?

  Harbormaster: I do. ;)

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “So . . .” Arielle bombarded Sabrina the moment she stepped from her room the next morning. “Tell all. How was your date?”

  Sabrina rubbed her temples and headed to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. “I don’t want to talk about it.” It was bad enough that it kept her awake until all hours of the night. The quiet ride back on the boat. The tense ride home in the car. The awkward goodbye. Her mind had whirled like a hurricane all night.

  Arielle followed her to the kitchen. “What do you mean you don’t want to talk about it?”

  “I mean I don’t want to talk about it.” Sabrina rinsed the pot and added water to the tank. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re fit and healthy again. You go out with him tonight.” Even as she said it, a stab of jealousy pierced her.

  Thank goodness it was her day off. She didn’t think she could face Tucker so soon after—

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t have to.” It was Arielle he wanted to see. She’d only been a substitute last night. Maybe he’d been lonely and desperate or something. Maybe he wasn’t the man she thought he was. The Tucker she knew would never have made out with one woman while in love with another.

  Maybe he was like Jared after all. Maybe all men were.

  She set the filter in the basket and plugged in the coffeemaker, shoving the b
racelet up her arm when it got in her way. So much for the tangible reminder of heartbreak. She’d blocked everything sensible from her head the night before. Her head pounded now. She needed caffeine. She needed peace. She needed a new life.

  “Did he say something?” Arielle asked.

  Sabrina turned toward the living room.

  Arielle took her arm. “He thinks I’m sick. This is your chance with him.”

  “I don’t want a chance with him. He’s all yours.” Sabrina jerked away.

  “Sabrina!”

  “I’m taking a shower.” Sabrina closed the conversation with the slam of the bathroom door, but not before she heard Arielle’s growl of frustration.

  Renny was potting a plant in the front yard when Sabrina was leaving for the post office. Her shadow fell over Renny’s form like a dark cloak as she approached.

  “Morning,” Renny said. Her bare knees dug into the soil and her calloused heels were propped in the air.

  The yard had become a profusion of color over the past several weeks. Sabrina wondered where Renny was going to fit the flowering plant once it was potted.

  “Gan Eden’s filling up fast,” she said. “Are you stuck on your story? Do you want to brainstorm more?”

  Renny scooped dirt from the bag into the terra-cotta pot. “No, I don’t think so.” She brushed her hair from her face with the back of her hand.

  “I had some ideas the other day that might work.”

  Renny put down the scoop and sat back on her haunches. “Listen, I decided to give up writing.”

  Had the woman lost her marbles? “What?” Of all the zany ideas Renny had, this was the craziest of all.

  “Don’t worry, I want you to stay in the apartment, and I won’t charge you rent. I love having you here; you’re good company. More than that. You’re like a daughter to me, really. But I’m done with writing. I’m going back to what I know. Gardening.”

  “You know how to write. You’re extremely proficient.”

  “Not proficient enough.”

  “I’ve told you, it’s just a matter of time!” The thought of all that talent wasted made Sabrina ill. “Someone is going to want Danger, just wait and see.”

  Renny retrieved the shovel and started scooping. “No, no, I don’t think so. I’m tired of trying. I’ll never be good enough.”

  “You’re good enough now. You’ll probably get the call any day.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  How could the woman be so stubborn? “I guarantee it.”

  Renny laughed, not the pleasant kind. “I don’t think so, amita.”

  There was something Renny wasn’t telling her. “What’s going on, Renny?” Something wasn’t right. Why would Renny quit when she was still waiting to hear from several publishers? Unless she’d gotten the rejections . . .

  “Did you—have you heard from the publishers?” Surely not. Sabrina couldn’t imagine anyone saying no to Danger.

  “No, I haven’t.” Renny patted the dirt with her bare hands, packing it tightly around the gnarled stem.

  “Well, see then? There’s still—”

  “I didn’t send them.” Renny pulled her soiled hands back and grabbed another scoop of dirt.

  “Are you still unsatisfied with the characterization? Do you want to work on it some more?”

  Renny stood suddenly, rubbing the soil from her hands. She studied Sabrina as if trying to make a decision. Finally she said, “Come here.”

  She walked toward the porch, and Sabrina followed onto the brick stoop. They entered the foyer and walked past the airy living room into the dining room, which overlooked the ocean. Renny bent in front of the cherry hutch and pulled out a fat drawer. It settled in place with a squawk.

  Renny stood upright. “There they are.”

  Sabrina looked into the drawer, filled to the brim with stacks of paper. “Your manuscripts?”

  “All nine of them.”

  Renny’s words from earlier soaked in. “I didn’t send them.”

  That’s not what she meant . . . that she hadn’t sent them, any of them, to publishers. Was it?

  “I never sent them.” Renny crossed her arms over the toucan on her Hawaiian shirt. “I didn’t mean to lie, but I couldn’t do it.”

  “Why not?” All those years of writing, locked in a drawer? All the work Renny had done, all the work Sabrina had done, wasted? She didn’t understand.

  Renny went to the sink, turned on the faucet, and pumped some soap. “I was waiting until my writing was good enough. I was going to go back and fix the earlier ones.” She shook her head.

  Sabrina looked at the drawer of manuscripts. The earlier ones were weak in spots. Pacing problems, weak writing, stale characters. The last three, though . . . she’d wondered why some publisher hadn’t snapped them up. Now she knew. Renny had never sent them.

  “Why did you do it, then? Why spend all those hours—all those hours, Renny!—writing and brainstorming and researching? Why do all that work and just . . . stick it in a drawer?”

  “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “You’re right, I don’t understand.” Her words wobbled. All those hours she’d spent researching locations and killing methods and police procedure. All those hours reading and editing. She’d been paid for her work, but it felt empty. All for nothing. Where was the faith Renny clung to?

  “What about God and his will that you talk about?” Sabrina asked.“How can he do his will when you won’t do your part? Send them to your agent now. At least the last three.”

  Renny dried her hands. “I can’t.”

  Sabrina reached into the drawer. “Then I will.” It was a small matter to write a cover letter and stick them in the mail.

  “Stop it!” Renny grabbed her arm. “Leave them be. It’s not your place.”

  Sabrina straightened. Renny was right. It was her work. Her decision. She had to know one thing. “Did you ever intend to send them?”

  Renny closed the drawer, and it creaked under its load. “I was going to send them when they were good enough.”

  Sabrina opened her mouth to say they already were, then shut it again. She’d already said it, many times over. One more time wouldn’t make Renny believe it.

  Harbormaster: Remember in sixth grade when we just had to ask a friend if so-and-so liked us? Life was much simpler then, huh?

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Arielle was waiting for Tucker when he arrived at the Even Keel Cafe. He navigated the maze of tables and joined her in the corner against the rear wall. The scent of seafood and grilled steak tempted his taste buds, reminding him he’d skipped lunch.

  Arielle had left a voice mail on his cell, asking to meet after work. She looked up as he approached, her wide smile absent.

  “Hi.” He slipped into the chair across from her.

  “You got my message, obviously.”

  “I tried to call you back. Got the machine.” He’d expected Sabrina would answer. Had half hoped she would. Maybe she had caller ID.

  Before he could grab the menu, Arielle leaned forward, intent. “What did you do?”

  “What? Nothing.”

  “You didn’t tell her you knew?”

  “No.” He wondered why she thought that. Sabrina had been so quiet all the way home, despite his efforts to initiate conversation. “What did she say?”

  “She didn’t say anything. And I mean nothing. She’s been quiet as a mouse all day.”

  Was she angry he’d kissed her? He’d hoped Arielle might be able to enlighten him. He’d almost sent Sabrina a message that morning. But he could hardly mention the kiss when he wasn’t supposed to know Sabrina was Sweetpea.

  “What did you do?”Arielle was giving him the look she probably used on her preschoolers. Her arms were crossed now.

  He shifted on the chair. He could say nothing. What was another secret between friends? Then again, what did it matter if he told her?

  “I—uh. I might have kissed her.”

&
nbsp; Her eyes widened. “You might have kissed her?”

  Was that such a bad thing? A man kissing the woman he loved? He had nothing to be ashamed of. Then why did he feel so rotten?

  “Well, she kissed me back,” he said in a small voice.

  “But that’s a good thing,” Arielle said.

  “You would think.” It had sure felt good. It felt good every time he relived it too. Right up until the moment she pushed him away and demanded he take her home.

  “Huh,” Arielle said.

  The server came and took their orders. The restaurant was noisy, the clatter of scraping utensils and the loud hum of too many conversations. It was giving Tucker a headache.

  “So, what happened after the kiss, if you don’t mind my asking.”

  “She pushed me away and asked me to take her home.”

  Arielle frowned. “That’s it?”

  He decided to skip the part about his heart beating madly. “That’s it.”

  Arielle sipped her tea. “Huh,” she said again when she set down her glass.

  That’s all he got? Huh? Weren’t women supposed to have insight into each other’s souls? They were cousins; she had to know something.

  “She thinks you’re cheating on her,” Arielle said.

  “What?”

  Arielle took a white bottle from her cavernous bag, unscrewed the lid and dumped green powder into her water. It turned cloudy.

  “You’re supposed to be in love with Sweetpea, who you’re supposed to think is me, and yet you went out with her and put the moves on her.” She stirred the water and took a sip.

  The stuff looked like algae water. Tucker grimaced. And steak makes her ill?

  “She thinks you’re cheating on her,” Arielle said.

  “You mean on Sweetpea?”

  “Who is supposed to be me.”

  Tucker rubbed the back of his neck. For crying out loud.

  “She feels betrayed.”

  “By her own self?”

  “Think about it. You’re not supposed to know she’s Sweetpea, so what’s she supposed to think when you’re in love with Sweetpea, yet kiss her?”

  So complicated. When had life gotten so complicated? What sense did Arielle’s speculation make? How could he cheat on Sabrina with Sabrina? Though, in a wacky sort of way, it made sense when you figured Sabrina didn’t know he knew. He rubbed his eyes.