One Summer

by JoAnn Ross

  “Out.” The sun set late this time of year, and outside the wall of glass facing the bay, the sapphire water sparkled as if it had been scattered with diamonds.

  “The Pacific Northwest may arguably have the most gorgeous summers on the planet,” she said as the young woman led them to an umbrella-topped table on a wooden deck perched over the water. “But I’ve learned that whenever blue skies show up, it’s obligatory to celebrate.” He felt a pang of loss as she slipped on the lacy sweater, covering up those bare shoulders. Later.

  “I’m all for celebration.” After pulling her chair out for her, because it seemed an eternity since he’d kissed her, he bent his head and touched his lips to hers.

  The kiss was quick and light, but he’d felt her breath catch beneath his mouth.

  “I don’t know about the food here,” he said as he sat down. “But the appetizer was certainly tasty.”

  Appealing color drifted into her cheeks again as the hostess tried, with scant success, to smother a laugh as she placed the menus in front of them, rattled off the specials, then left with their drink orders. A glass of sauvignon blanc for Charity, a Sam Adams for Gabe.

  “You realize,” Charity said, as she unfolded her napkin onto her lap, “everyone is now looking at us.”

  “News flash. Everyone was looking at us the minute you walked into the place in that dress.”

  “Only because it’s not what they’re used to seeing me wear.”

  “No. It’s because you look tastier than anything on this menu.” He glanced up from the menu in question and grinned. “And I’m the lucky SOB who actually got a sample.”

  “The entire town will be talking about that kiss by morning.”

  Having grown up in a small town himself, where his parents provided a great deal of grist for the local gossip mill, Gabe suspected she was right.

  “Should I apologize?” He didn’t want to cause any damage to her professional reputation. But it wasn’t as if he’d stripped off that dress and taken her on top of the table. Which was what he really wanted to do.

  “No.” She smiled her thanks at the waitress who’d delivered their drinks, then, after offering them more time to decide on their choices, discreetly disappeared back into the building. “Actually, since calling off my wedding has been the main topic of gossip about me since I arrived in town, people will undoubtedly enjoy a change of subject.”

  Although she’d been living in town long enough to undoubtedly memorize the menu, she began to study it as if she’d be hit with a pop quiz at any moment. Sensing she was avoiding talking any more about her failed marriage, Gabe decided not to press.

  They kept the conversation casual. About the weather—which, he’d discovered, could change from minute to minute on the coast—the campers, her work with the shelter.

  Unlike many city restaurants he’d been to, where the staff seemed determined to turn over tables in under twenty minutes flat, the pace was leisurely, the mood relaxed.

  Much, much later, as he signed the credit card charge, he was certain the meal was one of the best he’d ever eaten. But he couldn’t remember tasting a thing because all his attention had been focused on Charity. And his plan for the rest of the night.

  Over the clam chowder, he’d imagined slowly taking those pins from her hair and watching it tumble free over her bare shoulders. During the cedar-plank-smoked salmon he’d imagined the silky feel of her hair draped across his chest. His thighs.

  And as he’d watched the white napkin she used to wipe away a bit of whipped cream that topped the fresh marionberries, myriad fantasies of other things he’d like to do with that whipped cream flashed through his mind. Although he might make a living in what his agent insisted on calling “the arts,” Gabe had never thought of himself as a fanciful man.

  Until now. As he allowed his fantasies to take flight, pictured himself drawing whipped cream circles on her breasts, then slowly licking them off, the surrounding sounds of conversation, cutlery clinking, and whale-watching boats chugging back into the harbor faded away. He could practically hear her soft, needy sighs. Her throaty moans.

  The mental images became more and more vivid and erotic, forcing Gabe to grit his teeth and try to think of something, anything, that would allow him to walk out of the Sea Mist without giving the town an entirely new and definitely triple-X-rated topic to discuss.

  35

  Something was wrong. Except for his sister fretting when she’d first gotten off the bus, she’d been her typical chatterbox, upbeat self since arriving at the camp. Even when describing what, to him, didn’t sound like that great a placement. Though, from what she’d said about the previous Salem one, it had to have been an improvement.

  She’d been excited right before she’d dashed off to get in line with the other girls. But when she came back with the fairy tattoo on her thin upper arm, she looked about ready to cry.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  She was looking down at the ground, scuffing at fir needles with the toe of her pink sandal.

  “Hey.” Johnny crouched down, put his finger beneath her chin, and lifted her miserable gaze to his. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” She was a terrible liar. Probably because she hadn’t had as much practice as he had.

  “Angel—”

  “Don’t call me Angel.” Thin shoulders beneath the Camp Rainbow T-shirt slumped. She looked as miserable as he’d ever seen her. “Angels are people who died and went to heaven. I don’t want to be dead, so that’s not my name anymore.”

  Where the hell had that come from? Just a few minutes ago, she’d been happily belting out the stupid angel pizza song, which was her favorite because she’d decided it was about her.

  “Okay.” Johnny wished, not for the first time in his life, that some superhero—Batman would be cool—would come racing up in the Batmobile and take care of things. Of course, with his fucking luck, he’d probably get Robin. “What’s your new name?”

  That stopped her for a minute. She tilted her head as she considered the problem.

  “Jasmine,” she decided. “She’s my favorite Disney princess, because she’s pretty and brave and has adventures.”

  She nodded as the idea sank in. “And she ran away from the palace when her father was going to make her marry a bad prince. Then almost got her hand cut off because she didn’t know about money and gave an apple to a poor boy. But then Aladdin rescued her. And they fell in love.”

  She nodded again. This time with more enthusiasm, causing curls to bounce. “That’s my new name—Jasmine.”

  Johnny blew out a relieved breath as the light came back into her eyes. Another crisis averted.

  36

  Although she certainly hadn’t lived the life of a cloistered nun, well, at least until she’d broken up with Ethan, neither had Charity ever allowed herself to go to bed with a man she’d known only a few days.

  Having lived through the wreckage that Amanda’s quicksilver temperament and rash decisions had left in their wake, she’d worked to take a different life path.

  She’d spent most of her life planning every deed, censoring every word, avoiding attention, and, until the day she’d thrown away months of wedding planning, avoiding confrontation.

  She’d told herself she was happy living in Shelter Bay. Which was true. She loved the town, the people, the spectacular Pacific Northwest location. She’d made friends, and she had the satisfaction of knowing that every time she placed a homeless pet, she not only saved the animal’s life but enriched the life of its owner.

  But now, as Gabe drove back over the bridge toward the coast, Charity realized how much of a toll repressing her sensual self had taken on her. During dinner, although somehow they’d managed to keep a fairly coherent conversation going, every time his eyes, as watchful and hungry as a wolf’s, looked at her as if he wanted to rip her dress off and ravish her right on the Sea Mist’s patio, an insane part of her had been hoping he�
�d do exactly that.

  Emotions, feelings, sensations, were all flooding over her, as if escaping from a breach in a stone dam.

  The sky was darkening quickly. A first star winked brightly to life.

  I wish . . .

  What?

  And wasn’t that the problem?

  She’d been outrageously attracted to Gabriel St. James the moment she’d spotted him, all serious glower and radiating testosterone as he’d taken those photos at Cole and Kelli’s wedding. Which was why she’d made the effort to get past his shields. With less-than-encouraging results.

  But then he’d shown up on her doorstep and if she’d believed in fate, which she didn’t, she would have thought they’d been destined to meet. Especially since if Winnie had gone into labor ten minutes earlier, she would have left the reception without ever getting up the nerve to talk to the man.

  It wasn’t as if she were some moonstruck teenager. During the day, she’d managed to keep thoughts of him at bay as she’d focused on her work. On her patients and their often stressed-out owners.

  But during the night . . . oh, that had been a different story altogether. He’d invaded her sleep, with carnal dreams of clothes ripping, and big strong hands bruising, and her crying out, begging for release, as he’d drive her higher and higher. But then, in the morning her damn alarm would go off, leaving her hot and bothered amid tangled sheets.

  Maybe she was making a mistake, leaping into a sexual affair with him so soon. It wasn’t as if he were offering her a future. And despite what he’d said about sticking around for the entire camp, what did she really know about him? Except for the obvious. That he was a rolling stone. A hot, unbelievably sexy rolling stone that could make her shiver all the way down to her toes with a mere look. And have her feel as if her bones were melting like a sand castle at high tide with his touch.

  She deserved this, dammit! After a lifetime of behaving responsibly, of putting everyone else’s needs ahead of her own, she deserved a hot summer fling.

  And who better to have it with than a man who wouldn’t be sticking around to complicate things once the earth turned, the leaves changed, and her comfortable, predictable life got back to normal?

  37

  The Hi-Tide campground was small, each site tucked away beneath the trees near the edge of the cliff.

  “Wow.” Pulled out of her introspection by the sight of the rising moon glistening on the waves, Charity caught her breath. “There are people who’d pay big bucks for this view.”

  “According to the owners, they’ve had offers to sell to developers with deep pockets over the years, but they grew up camping here when their parents owned it, and they want to keep it so other kids can experience the fun they had.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Yeah. I thought so when they told me about it.” He leaned across the console and cupped his fingers around the nape of her neck. The pressure, while not painful, still made her tremble. Just a little, but she knew he’d felt it.

  “You realize”—his deep voice caused her heart to thrum—“there’s still time to change your mind.” His eyes, silvered by moonshine, focused on hers. “But once you come inside, you’re mine.”

  The claim of possession could have been either promise or threat. Since it echoed the dreams of ravishment that had tormented her sleep, Charity took his words as a hot, glorious, nerve-tangling promise.

  But the common sense that had served her all her life made one last attempt to make itself heard.

  “This is all happening so fast.”

  “Not fast enough. I wanted you the minute I saw you.”

  “I certainly couldn’t tell. You were so caught up in your work.”

  “I had a job to do. And you, sugar, were a major distraction.”

  “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

  “Good. Because it is. I almost went after you.”

  “I almost expected you to,” she admitted.

  “I should have. But the fact that I wanted to was even more reason to leave.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “I was on my way out of town when the dog got tossed from that van.”

  “Which brought you to me.”

  “Yeah. Which leaves me thinking that, just maybe, there are times when all the stars and planets are in the right place, the gods are generous, and two people meet and click right off the bat.”

  She tilted her head. He’d opened the moonroof on the Jeep during the drive from town, and she assured herself that it was the cooling breeze blowing in from the ocean, and not anticipation, that shivered over her bare skin.

  “Do you honestly believe in fate?”

  “I didn’t. But since meeting you, I’ve got to admit that I’m rethinking the concept.” He hit the button, closing the roof. “Especially the part about gods not taking kindly to people who reject their gifts.”

  “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to risk the wrath of the gods.”

  “Wise woman.”

  It was only a few feet to the door, but it seemed like a mile as Gabe resisted the urge to just scoop her off her feet and carry her to bed. And wouldn’t that set tongues wagging? While he’d never been one to let gossip bother him, he also wouldn’t be the one having to live with it.

  One of the first things the military taught him was that a failure to plan was planning for failure. So he’d taken time to set the stage this morning before leaving for the camp. Just in case.

  He’d changed the sheets, put fresh towels in the bath. He already had candles, for power outages, and a quick run to Sofia De Luca’s Lavender Hill Farm had resulted in some sweet-smelling heirloom roses. She’d even provided a vase, something he hadn’t thought of. Which definitely showed how long it had been since he’d thought about romance.

  Mission accomplished.

  She drew in a breath as she entered the bedroom and viewed the flowers, along with the bottle of champagne he’d set on ice next to two flute glasses he’d seen in one of the shop windows. Blue stemmed, they’d been hand painted with a coastal scene.

  “Oh, you needn’t have gone to so much trouble,” she said. “I don’t need all the romantic trappings.”

  “I know.” He flipped a switch and sent slow, seductive music flowing out of the hidden speakers in the walls and ceiling. “But it seems I do.” Flames sparked and began dancing as he took a match to the wicks of the white candles. “Besides, it occurred to me that the breaking of a two-year moratorium deserves more of a celebration than a quick roll in the sheets.”

  “I’m all for celebrations,” she said mildly. She picked up the bottle of wine and studied it. “I don’t know anything about wine. Especially champagne. But I do love the flowers on the bottle.”

  “I don’t know all that much, either,” he said. “But the guy at the market assured me this is a good label. And the flowers reminded me of you.”

  “Oh, that’s lovely. Now I’m definitely going to have to taste it.” She put the bottle back down on the built-in dresser and turned toward him. “Later.”

  She took a deep, ragged breath. “I’m sorry.” He prepared for her to change her mind. “I really, really want this.” Color drifted into her cheeks. “But it’s not turning out to be as easy as I’d imagined it would be.”

  Gabe looped his arms lightly around her waist. “I’m not sure it should be all that easy.” He’d sensed from the beginning that nothing about this woman was going to be the least bit simple.

  But still he’d stayed.

  He kissed her. A soft, satiny meeting of lips. A mingling of breath. Then slowly slid the sweater off her shoulders, folded it, and carefully placed it on a chair.

  Then skimmed his fingertips along the bare skin he’d been dying all night to touch, pleased by her slight shiver.

  She was soft, but far from safe. Yet even knowing that, Gabe wanted her. Too much for comfort, too much for sanity. But like a man beguiled by a mythical siren, he lowered his mouth to hers once more a
nd allowed himself to be bewitched.

  He’d vowed to take things slowly. Carefully. And not just for her, but for himself. He wanted to savor this moment, to create a memory they could share even after he’d left Shelter Bay.

  Scents. They rose from her warming flesh, surrounding him in a fragrant cloud. As he breathed them in, Gabe knew he’d never see flowers again without thinking of this woman.

  Tastes. The honey taste of her lips, the sweet, moist sunshine taste of her throat beneath his lips lingered on his tongue, spun in his head.”

  Feelings bombarded him. Emotions too numerous to catalog rushed over him, until he felt as if he were drowning in them.

  “I dreamed of this,” she murmured as she slipped her hands beneath his shirt and ran them over his back. “I’ve been dreaming of you.” She pressed her lips against his neck. “Wild, wanton, wonderful dreams.”

  Her breathless admission caused whatever blood that remained in Gabe’s head to flow south. He pulled out the pins, as he’d been imagining doing during dinner. Then, tangling his hands in her hair, he kissed her hard and long. Needs flowed out of him and into her. Desire flowed out of her and into him.

  Her body was soft and pliant, but he could feel the strength there, as well. She was forged steel in shimmering silk. Gabe found the combination impossible to resist.

  Ever since he’d lost his virginity during a hot, sweaty, uncomfortable, and over-way-too-soon tumble in a Trans Am parked out in a Lowcountry marsh, Gabe had regarded the taking off of a woman’s clothes as merely a necessary prelude to sex. But now, as he unzipped the dress, letting it drift to the floor, he realized that undressing Charity was as sensuous an experience as the heady tastes of her kisses.

  And when he viewed her standing there, in only a strapless black scrap of lace, matching panties so skimpy she might as well not have bothered with them, and high-heeled sandals, Gabe was slammed by a punch of lust.

  “You know how I thanked you for wearing that dress?”

  A flush, the twin to that in her cheeks, bloomed on the crest of her breasts. “I seem to recall that.”