One Summer

by JoAnn Ross

  “Well, that goes double for this.” He rubbed his fingers along the lace, his knuckles brushing the rosy skin. Having always enjoyed contrasts, he liked discovering this sexy part of her personality that she kept hidden away. “Did I mention how hot you are?”

  “I could say the same thing about you,” she said. “But you’re wearing way too many clothes.”

  She set to work on the buttons of his black shirt, folded it back, and pushed it off his shoulders, tossing it uncaringly onto a padded bench.

  Her soft hands fluttered over his shoulders, moved down his chest, across the thick shrapnel scars dotting his torso beneath the globe and anchor tattoo.

  “What’s this?”

  He shrugged. “A souvenir of a mission that didn’t go entirely as planned.”

  “You’re lucky it didn’t hit your heart.”

  “I’ve always been lucky.” Forcing a careless shrug, when his body wanted to tremble, he ran his hand down her hair. Gabe was feeling awkward and clumsy. No other woman had ever made him experience either reaction before. “Which you being here with me tonight proves.”

  Because thinking about war wasn’t his favorite thing to do any time, but least of all when he was on the verge of taking a beautiful, sexy woman to bed, he kissed her again, a long, lazy exploration of tastes that had her lips parting on a throaty moan.

  “Do you have any idea how much I want you?” He continued kissing his way down her throat, where her blood pulsed. Then lower.

  “I want you, too.” Her breath trembled out as his lips darkened the black lace. Her heart was beating like thunder beneath his mouth. “Probably more than I should.”

  It wasn’t exactly what he’d wanted to hear.

  But it was close enough.

  For now.

  The mattress sighed as he drew her down onto the bed. Rough, fumbling urgency took the place of well-honed skill as he whisked away the black lace barrier, then practically tore off his own clothes.

  Their legs tangled and when she shifted beneath him, arching her back, then moving in a slow, rhythmic motion, Gabe had to grit his teeth to maintain control.

  When he could have ravished, he sipped. When he could have taken, he forced himself to seduce.

  He felt her tremble where his hands touched. And lingered. When he skimmed his mouth over heated skin, he tasted passion. And promise.

  This was more than the simple need of a man for a woman. He wanted her.

  He wanted her to feel sensations she’d never felt with any other man. And although he knew it was selfish and chauvinistic, he wanted to brand her with his mouth, his hands, so that whenever any other man touched her, she would feel his touch instead.

  So that if any lips ever attempted to drink from hers, the tastes of Gabriel St. James would come between them.

  And if she ever made love to that faceless, nameless male lurking somewhere in the murky shadows of her future, Charity would find her bed—and her body—already claimed by his presence.

  Even as he knew that was impossible, it was imperative that she remember him—and this night—long after he’d gone. For the rest of her life.

  As Gabe knew he’d remember her.

  Mists, as soft and delicate as the fog drifting in from the sea, enveloped them. Time slowed. Then seemed to stop. There was no yesterday. No tomorrow. Only now.

  He’d never met a woman as generous, as trusting, as Charity. No woman had ever loved him so patiently. So completely.

  Gabe was no stranger to lust, but he’d never realized that a need this powerful could also be so quiet. So perfect.

  Never had he been so patient. So careful.

  Soft murmurs, quiet sighs. The warmth of flesh against flesh.

  Drowning in her tenderness, murmuring her name like a prayer, he slipped into her.

  She took him in, enfolding him.

  “Oh,” she breathed on a shimmering sigh.

  Her hands glided over his shoulders, then tightened around him.

  Her moon-gilded eyes looked up into his.

  “Now,” she said.

  Thank God. “Now.”

  He began to move, his deep thrusts echoing the age-old rhythm of the surf pounding against the rocky cliff.

  No longer pliant, she wrapped her long silk legs around him, and matched him, stroke for stroke. In and out. Again and again.

  All the time Gabe never took his eyes from hers as he drove her up crest after tumultuous crest.

  Muscles straining, his ragged breaths threatening to rip his lungs apart, he gripped her hands as he sent them over the final wave, crashing down the other side, helpless to do anything but drown.

  38

  Charity lay with her cheek against Gabriel’s chest, drinking in the musky scent of his skin and listening to the sound of the rain on the metal roof that added a counterpoint to the steady thudding of his heartbeat as it settled back to normal.

  As for her own heart, she wasn’t sure it would ever be the same.

  She’d never given so freely, so openly of herself. And until tonight, she hadn’t realized that she’d never wanted to. The simple truth was that sex had never been an overwhelming force in her life. She’d spent the past years getting through school, pouring her energies into her work, receiving satisfaction from her career.

  She’d spent her entire life keeping her emotions on a tight rein, opting for practicality over passion, logic over love. Until now. Until making love with Gabriel St. James.

  Not that she was in love. It was just sex.

  Hot, mind-blowing sex, but she wasn’t going to repeat her mother’s mistake of confusing the two.

  “You can accuse me of being repetitive,” he murmured in a rough voice that caused a renewed little spike of desire. “But thank you.”

  Putting aside introspection for now, Charity laughed and trailed a finger down his chest and, since she was feeling more satisfied than she’d ever felt in her life, tried not to think about how he’d gotten those scars. His skin was no longer hot to the touch, but wonderfully warm and moist, emanating a musky scent that amazingly stimulated another little spike of desire.

  “I made you sweat.”

  “You did a helluva lot more than that, sugar.” He combed lazy fingers through her tousled hair.

  “I never knew.” She pressed her lips against his stomach and felt his muscles clench. “That it could be that way. That I could be that way.” She rolled over on top of him. “Do you think it was a fluke?”

  “No. I knew you’d be hot.”

  “Hot.” An unfamiliar laugh, throaty with satisfaction, bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her. It was a stranger’s laugh. A hot, sexy stranger’s laugh.

  “I was, wasn’t I?” She began moving against him in a way designed to rekindle smoldering ashes. The way a hot, sexy woman would move when she was out to seduce a naked man.

  “Absolutely.”

  “I want you.” Her tongue made a wet swath along the seam of his mouth. “Again.” She nipped at his lower lip. “And again. Because I’m not nearly done with you yet, Gabriel St. James.”

  “What if I can’t live up to your expectations?” he asked as her fingers trailed down his chest.

  “Don’t worry.” God, she loved his body! “I’ll help you.”

  “Well, then.” He sucked in a harsh breath as she lowered her head again and began following the trail with her mouth. “I guess we won’t have any problem.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking. And you don’t have to worry.” Charity laughed against his stomach. “I promise to respect you in the morning.”

  She’d been a little afraid it would be awkward. Afraid that, after making love all night long, she’d feel like a slut in the light of day. Afraid, although it was a cliché probably first invented by the morality police, he really might not respect her in the morning.

  She was wrong. As she came out of his shower into the bedroom, wrapped in a thick brown towel, hair streaming over her shoulders, he greeted her
with a kiss, and a cup of coffee.

  She sank into the kiss as the mug warmed her hands and the steam rose between them.

  “I have dry cereal and milk.” He punctuated his words with featherlight kisses that skimmed across her mouth and up her cheek. “Or English muffins.” Her other cheek. “Or I can make an omelet.”

  “Just coffee’s fine.”

  He’d already showered and apparently made coffee while she’d been in that half-wake, half-sleep mode, basking in memories of the night that had lasted way into the morning. He was wearing jeans. Just jeans. Wranglers, from the leather label on that very fine butt.

  “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that breakfast is the most important meal of the day?”

  “Have you not met my mother?” She didn’t want to talk about Amanda. What Charity wanted was to lick his ripped dark chest.

  “Good point.” The hand that had created such glorious havoc on her body all night long stroked her side, from shoulder to thigh.

  “Besides, you don’t have to go to any trouble.”

  Just as she’d never had anyone light candles and buy flowers as a prelude to lovemaking, the last person to cook for her had been one of a changing parade of housekeepers Amanda had hired to take care of anything remotely resembling a domestic chore.

  “It’s no trouble. I have to eat, so cooking for two isn’t any big deal. Besides, you need to keep up your energy.” His hand slipped beneath the towel to caress her bare leg.

  “I have plans for you.”

  “Well, since you put it that way . . .” His touch was making her light-headed with remembrance. If it weren’t for that scheduled surgery, she’d drag him back to bed and have her way with him. “I wouldn’t turn down an English muffin.”

  “How about some Canadian bacon and an egg on it?”

  Since Shelter Bay’s governing and zoning council had successfully kept out franchise restaurants, Charity hadn’t had an Egg McMuffin in ages. And although she’d never been much of a breakfast eater, she seemed to have worked up an appetite. And surely last night had worked off about a gazillion calories.

  “I’ve love one. If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble.”

  “I never say anything I don’t mean.” He brushed his lips against hers, the quick kiss ending too soon. Then left to let her get dressed.

  Charity decided it was a sign of how much just one night could change a person’s viewpoint when she didn’t even worry about everyone in Shelter Bay seeing her coming home early in the morning in the same dress she’d worn to the Sea Mist last night.

  She pulled back her hair to braid it, revealing a mark on her neck. There were probably others, she thought with a secret thrill. And with luck, there’d be a lot more.

  She usually spent a few minutes every morning doing yoga, followed by a brief meditation. She’d found while going to vet school that not only did meditation help her deal with the stress of the job; it focused her mind on the day ahead. Since she was going to miss that this morning, she had to stop thinking about sex.

  Easier said than done. Just looking at his bare back, as he stood in front of the three-burner cooktop, caused a now predictable spike in her hormones.

  “Can I help?”

  “I’m fine.” He waved toward the dinette. “Sit.”

  “That’s very good.” She did as instructed. “You put just the right amount of command in that order without sounding overly stern. You and your dog will probably ace obedience training.”

  He made a noncommittal sound that she decided to take for agreement, although he still didn’t seem all that enthusiastic about the idea. Deciding not to push, she changed the subject.

  “This is really nice.”

  Since her mind definitely hadn’t been on motor home decor when she’d arrived last night, she’d gotten only a fleeting glimpse of the combination living room/kitchen before they’d gone into the bedroom, but now she could see that it was a great deal more luxurious than she would have suspected.

  The cabinets—including a built-in wall unit with a wide-screen TV—were maple, the countertops granite, the floor hardwood. Both the sink and the appliances were stainless steel. The upholstery was black leather.

  “I like it.” While Canadian bacon sizzled in one pan, he began frying three eggs in another.

  “I guess I supposed it would be more like camping out.”

  “I spent enough years doing that. This was previously owned by a country singer who moved up to a bus.” He put a muffin in the toaster. “Since the RV market apparently cratered with the rest of the economy, I got it at a fire-sale price.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “Funny.” His gaze was warm as it turned back to her. “That’s exactly what I was telling myself while you were in the shower. That I’m one lucky SOB.”

  Oh, no! As she found herself drowning in the depths of his eyes, Charity realized she’d lied. She didn’t just want his body. She wanted his heart.

  Might as well wish for the moon.

  “So, what’s the plan?” he asked as he warmed up her coffee.

  “The plan?”

  How could it have happened? How, when she wasn’t looking, had she turned into her mother?

  “To get all the dogs and gear out to the camp this afternoon?”

  “Oh, that.” Cooling relief flooded over her that he hadn’t somehow read her mind. “I thought since you’re going to be bringing out that printer, if you could, I’d let you also take the cameras and my printer. And, of course, your dog. I’ll take the others, since I’ll want them crated.”

  “Works for me.” He put the plates on the table and sat down across from her. His legs were long, the table small enough that their knees touched. Charity knew she was sunk when even that physical contact caused a now familiar zing.

  She knew, as his gray eyes darkened, that Gabe had felt it, too.

  He wanted her again. Just as she wanted him.

  The problem was, she wanted him too much.

  No. The problem was that come summer’s end, he was going to get into this motor home and drive away. From Shelter Bay. And her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She forced a reassuring smile that felt frozen on her face.

  “You were a million miles away.”

  “Just planning ahead.” This smile felt a little more natural. “It’s what I do.”

  What she’d always done. Planned for the next stepfather, the next school, how to fit in as her mother had moved them around like a rolling stone.

  She’d decided in her teens to become a veterinarian and she’d done everything to make that happen. Next she’d worked her way up from assistant veterinarian to being on staff at one of Chicago’s best and biggest veterinary clinics. And then, after she’d set her mind to moving here, she’d gotten the house remodeled and the clinic established in record time.

  A year later, she’d fulfilled her dream of opening up a shelter, but she was already thinking of ways she could draw other vets from other counties in, to create a network of shelters and volunteers willing to foster animals waiting for adoption.

  Except for that halcyon summer here in Shelter Bay, Charity could not recall ever just living in the here and now. She’d learned not to dwell on the past, even as she was always looking toward tomorrow.

  “I was also thinking,” she murmured, “that there’s a lot to be said for living in the moment. One day at a time.”

  He took her hand and lifted it to his smiling lips. “Sugar, you are playing my tune. Especially when the day’s as perfect as this one.”

  39

  The siren shattered the soft afternoon air. Blue and red lights flashed atop the sheriff department’s cruiser.

  “This is the tweriff,” a voice instructed over the loudspeaker. “Come out with your handth up!” The order would’ve carried more weight if it hadn’t been coming from a five-year-old pigtailed blonde with a lisp.

  “I think you just might have won the Ms.
Popularity contest,” Gabe told Kara Conway as they watched the line of kids waiting for a chance to play with all the gear.

  “Kids seem to love playing cops and robbers,” she agreed. Her deputy, who didn’t look much older than some of the kids themselves, appeared to be having just as much fun.

  “Did you?” he asked.

  “Sure. But although my dad was Shelter Bay’s sheriff, I didn’t consider going into law enforcement until after I’d gotten married.”

  He hadn’t realized she’d been married before. Then again, most of the people he knew had been married. Some more than once. With the seeming exception of Charity, who’d stopped at the brink.

  “I was widowed,” she revealed.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So was I. The irony was that Jared, my husband, made it through two tours in Iraq, only to get killed during a domestic cop call.”

  “That’s tough.” And tragic, yet from what he’d witnessed at the wedding, and from her cheerful attitude the other day on the beach, he guessed she’d gotten over it.

  “It was the darkest time of my life. But I was fortunate to have our son, which kept me from just crawling into bed and pulling the covers over my head for the rest of my life.”

  She sighed softly, then shook her head. “You know what they say about what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?”

  “Roger that,” Gabe agreed.

  “It’s true. Yet if all that hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have ended up back here in Shelter Bay. With Sax.”

  By the way her face lit up when she said Cole’s brother’s name, he could tell that what the two of them had was the real deal. It also made him wonder what secret the Douchett family had that the rest of the planet couldn’t seem to figure out.

  “I heard you and Charity had dinner at the Sea Mist last night.” Her tone might be conversational, but he caught a question in the statement.

  “You and probably everyone else.”

  She shrugged khaki-clad shoulders. “It’s a small town. People talk. It actually makes my job a lot easier. . . .”